State of Grace
by half agony and hope
Summary: The Blake Association has been dismantled, and Jane and Lisbon return from South America as Abbott seeks to build a new team. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt are also recruited, and the former CBI team undertakes their first case with the FBI—the investigation of Lisbon's father's death, once thought to be suicide but now understood to be murder. Third in the "Into the Blue" trilogy.
1. Chapter 1: This Love Is

**AN: Thanks for everyone who read/reviewed _Shiver_. I remain, as always, floored by your responses. I'm not ruling out adding on to that story, but _this_ story has been a long time coming, and I wanted to start posting it rather than work on other things.**

 _ **State of Grace**_ **is the third in the multichapter trilogy that began with _Into the Blue_ and continued with _When I Fal_ _l._ (Despite its title, the story isn't actually about Van Pelt, though she does appear quite prominently.) It's not necessary that you read the first two, though it may help you follow some of the references the characters make because these stories diverged from canon after the season five finale.**

 **Basically, the team took down Red John together, then Jane and Lisbon were forced into exile in South America as Abbott looked to dismantle the Blake Association. Cho has since become an FBI agent, and Rigsby and Van Pelt moved out of California, began a life together, and are now expecting. The previous story ended with Cho heading to South America to fetch Jane and Lisbon - he tells them it's now safe to return home and that Lisbon's father's death (previously thought to be a suicide) is being reinvestigated. This story opens with the team meeting up again for the first time in over a year.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me on this crazy journey! I hope this lives up to expectations.**

 **And as I've done for the other stories in this series, the titles for the chapters come from song lyrics - in this case, Taylor Swift's _State of Grace_. She, of course, owns these lyrics.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 1: This Love Is

The elevator doors opened, and Teresa Lisbon got her first glimpse of her new home.

Or, at least, her new workplace, though one could argue that for her they were one and the same. Take her previous position at the CBI. She'd definitely spent as much time in the bullpen as she had in her Sacramento condo. Probably more.

Lisbon took in the bullpen of the homicide floor of the Austin FBI field office in a matter of seconds, her eyes sweeping from left to right. There was an open briefing area to one side with large televisions and a very official air to it; on the other side of the room were glass panels which encased smaller interrogation rooms. Between the interrogation rooms and the briefing area sat multiple large desks, all with the new Mac computer model that had been released earlier that month. Lisbon looked over at Patrick Jane, her eyebrows raised.

They certainly weren't in Sacramento anymore.

Jane allowed her to see one moment of uncertainty cross his face before he rearranged his features. Lisbon looked ahead, her features now as unreadable as his own. Cho, who stood slightly in front of them, began to move forward, and Lisbon and Jane fell into step behind him.

Cho led them past a breakroom, and Lisbon pushed down an image of Jane there, stocking the cupboards with tea. Instead, the trio continued forward down the hall, and Cho knocked brusquely on the door to a large office marked with clear, capital letters.

SUPERVISORY AGENT DENNIS ABBOTT.

Cho stepped into the room without waiting for a response, gesturing to Jane and Lisbon with a curt nod to follow him. Lisbon caught a glimpse of Abbott, a welcoming smile on his face, before a flash of red obscured her vision and the strong arms of Van Pelt were flung around her.

"Lisbon!" said the redhead enthusiastically, and Lisbon's arms automatically reached up to return the hug. She was surprised to find her eyes misting over a bit; Lisbon tightened her arms briefly around Van Pelt to hide the unexpected show of emotion.

A second later, Van Pelt released her to hug Jane, and Lisbon was again engulfed in a second pair of muscular arms—this one belonging to a much taller body. "It's good to see you, Lisbon," said Rigsby softly, and Lisbon hugged him back fiercely, unable to speak.

They broke apart, and Lisbon caught Van Pelt staring between her and Jane, her mind obviously calculating. Lisbon realized that she'd never officially told the group that she and Jane had become involved—obviously Van Pelt was looking for signs of their relationship status, though she was far too tactful to ask any questions with Abbott right behind them.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. What did Van Pelt think had been going on in South America for over a year? Did she think that Lisbon had followed a mere friend into exile, that a mere friend had taken her away from her family and her life?

 _Well_ , said the logical part of her brain _, Jane had never been a mere friend._

It was true. Lisbon would do anything for Jane, whether they were in the widely understood definition of a relationship or not.

Suddenly Van Pelt's interest in the status of their relationship made a lot more sense. Jane shot Van Pelt a dazzling smile and a nod to answer her unspoken question.

Van Pelt beamed. "We have so much to catch up on," she said.

Cho snorted. "You could say that again."

Rigsby's eyes darted over to Abbott, who had stood up from his chair and now leaned against the front of his desk. "Later," said Rigsby, and Lisbon nodded.

Abbott extended his hand to Lisbon and then Jane. "How was the flight?" he asked by way of greeting.

"About as good as we could have hoped for," said Jane. "How are you, Abbott?"

Abbott smiled. "Well, thank you."

Lisbon spoke up for the first time. "I never got a chance to properly thank you for what you did for us on the Red John case," she said. "And for everything you did after, what with the Blake Association and all. We…we're…"

Jane finished the thought she couldn't articulate. "We're indebted to you, Abbott. Thanks for all you did to bring us back home."

Abbott shrugged. "Well, I _do_ stand to gain from getting the team back together, so to speak, so I'll be the first to admit my actions could be seen as self-serving. But I was just as eager as all of you to see the end of Red John and his association. The bastard deserved far worse than he got."

Lisbon nearly shuddered, remembering that what Red John had got was multiple bullets in the chest and head from herself, Cho, and Jane. Then she felt Jane's steady warmth as his arm barely brushed hers, and she attempted to put those memories behind her.

"So that's really the goal, then?" said Rigsby, as the two women sat down in the chairs in front of Abbott's desk. Cho remained at the door, leaning against the frame, and Jane moved behind Lisbon, putting his hands on the back of her chair and leaning against it. "You're reassembling the CBI team?"

Abbott crossed his arms. "That's the plan," he said. "It's not a secret that I was impressed by your work in California. It would be practically a crime for the five of you to vanish from law enforcement, and what better place to get back into the swing of things than at the FBI? And with the promotion I got for hunting down the Blake Association, I'm looking to put together a team. I'd prefer to start with a solid foundation that's already cohesive—and perhaps add a couple younger agents—than to start from scratch." He paused and then continued. "As was explained to you, you don't have to make your decision now. Let's work a case together, see how you all feel about it before you decide to move to Austin. Then you can decide."

Lisbon looked around at her former—and soon-to-be future—team and knew they were all thinking along the same lines she was. This team was a family to Lisbon. She'd follow them anywhere in the world if they could all stick together.

There really was no decision to make.

Abbott clasped his hands in front of him as he continued speaking. "Listen, I know it's been a long day of travel for you all, but I'm going to have to make it a little longer." He turned towards his desk, and Lisbon saw for the first time a stack of files on his desk. She noticed that the files appeared heartbreakingly thin—the case probably had very little evidence for them to go on. Abbott handed the files to Cho.

"That," he said, "is all the FBI has on the case of Robert Lisbon. As of right now, his death is still considered a suicide, but I'm thinking that will soon change."

Lisbon stiffened at the sudden mention of her father. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard someone say his name out loud.

It had been over a decade at least.

Jane came around to sit on the edge of her chair, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"To make a long story short, a joint Chicago PD and FBI investigation turned up new evidence on a mobster named Lansky. He's now facing multiple life sentences. As you could predict, Lansky wants to deal: he's promised to give us details on the death of a Chicago fireman—Lisbon's father—who died about thirty years ago. Normally," added Abbott, "I wouldn't give this jackass the time of day. But because his intel relates to you, Lisbon, I thought it was worth looking into. I figured you'd want your team—and no one else—to handle it."

"You figured right," said Lisbon, her voice steely. Van Pelt nodded in agreement.

"All right then," said Abbott. "I have your flights to Chicago booked for tomorrow morning. As of now, Cho is the only official agent working the case—the rest of you will serve as civilian consultants. I'll get you the contact information of the Chicago agents and detectives who are working on the case. They don't have much more info than you'll get from those files," he said, indicating with a gesture to the folders Cho held, "but hopefully they can be of some help. In the meantime, you know how to reach me."

* * *

After leaving Abbott's office, the team made themselves at home in the bullpen: Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt all commandeered a desk, though Jane decided to sit on the floor near Lisbon, muttering something about the lack of suitable couches in the general vicinity. Despite the case that loomed overhead, Lisbon cracked a smile. She wouldn't be all that surprised if one day she walked into the Austin bullpen to find Jane's old, beaten up, brown couch behind her desk.

In fact, she looked forward to it.

The team made short work of the files, exchanging them between one another and discussing things that they thought were worth noting.

Which, unfortunately, didn't seem to be all that much.

Since the death had been ruled a suicide right away, there wasn't much in the way of documentation of the scene. Lisbon was relieved to find no pictures—not that she needed any. She'd been the one to find him, slumped on the ground with his gun in hand.

It wasn't the kind of thing she was likely to forget.

Jane began to hover ever nearer to her desk the longer they poured over the files. After two hours of this, they decided that making a plan of attack for when they touched down in Chicago would be more productive. Eventually, it was decided that the body would need to be exhumed. Van Pelt and Cho immediately volunteered to be present, obviously hoping to keep Lisbon away.

Lisbon shook her head. "This is…this is something I need to do," she said. "Really, it's alright."

She felt Jane's hand on her shoulder from where he stood behind her. It was the first display of affection he'd shown for her in front of the others since they'd arrived in Austin, and she felt her stomach twist.

"It's not alright," said Jane. "No one should ever have to exhume their father. But you don't have to do it alone—I'm coming with you."

Lisbon looked up at him, intending to argue, but his expression was resolute. She nodded instead, and the rest of the team decided that Cho and Rigsby would interview Lansky to see what new information he had—and whether it was legitimate. Van Pelt would begin an intensive search into the Lisbon family financial records and anything else she could get her hands on.

They walked out of the FBI building together, and Lisbon couldn't help but be reminded of when they'd done the same in California. Her eyes welled up, and Jane slipped her his handkerchief surreptitiously.

When they'd passed the glass doors leading to the parking lot, Lisbon stopped. Four faces turned towards her.

"Thank you all," she said, still clutching Jane's handkerchief. The cool Austin winter air snaked around her, and it became blatantly apparent to her that she and Jane were a long way from their South American paradise.

But that didn't matter—because now she was home.

Her team nodded. "Anything for you, Lisbon," said Jane, obviously speaking for the others. He gave her a quick kiss on the temple and turned to Van Pelt, who looked delighted at this obvious indication of their relationship. "And Grace and Rigsby—congrats, by the way. Pregnancy suits you both. You're positively glowing—especially you, Rigsby."

Cho snorted at Rigsby's startled look and clapped him on the back.

"You told them?" said Rigsby, clearly disappointed.

Cho cracked a smile. "Didn't have to. Lisbon figured it out. One year alone with Jane and she's basically his protégé."

Jane grinned. "Oh, she's far better than a mere protégé. You'll see."

"He taught you how to hypnotize people, didn't he?" asked Rigsby, looking wary.

Lisbon grinned and looked at Jane. "Among other things."

Van Pelt giggled, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "I missed this," she said. "I missed us—this family we had."

Jane shot a meaningful look at Lisbon before speaking.

"The family we _have_ , Grace," he said. "Not _had_."

Van Pelt nodded, and the team began walking into the night again.

"Right. The family we have."

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading! I expect this story will contain about 10 chapters, as per my usual with multichaps, so there's lots more to come.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Armor Falls

**AN: Thanks for the wonderful response to the first chapter! I'm so glad you guys like where I'm going with this so far. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter just as much. As anyone who's been reading my stuff for a while knows, I'm absolutely horrible at responding to reviews, so I apologize for being behind on that. But it's next on my list of things to do!**

 **One other note: It's my headcanon that Jane and the team took down Red John in this universe sometime in December. Since this story takes place a little more than a year after the death of Red John, prepare to experience winter in Chicago!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 2: The Armor Falls

The team landed at O'Hare International Airport just after noon local time. As they took their first steps outside, the Midwest winter air hit them, and Lisbon watched, amused, as Jane visibly recoiled from the shock of the chilling wind.

"When was the last time you wore a winter jacket, Jane?" she asked him as they made their way to their rental car, Cho following along in their wake.

A slamming car door echoed in the parking ramp, and the SUV that had been rented out to Rigsby and Van Pelt began to back out beside them. Cho got in the front seat, and Lisbon opened the door to the passenger side. Jane shot her a pensive look as he climbed in back, and Cho pulled the car out of the parking spot.

"A true down feather winter jacket?" he said, looking paler than usual and more than a little chilled. Lisbon was suddenly glad Van Pelt had had the foresight to suggest a last minute shopping trip for Jane and Lisbon the night before. The rather pitiful wardrobes they'd brought back from South America would not do for this trip to Chicago—not only were they unsuitable for the Midwest winter, they were also far too casual for FBI consultants.

Jane shrugged and zipped his jacket up. "I honestly can't remember. Must have been before I left the carnival."

Conversation died out on the way to the FBI Chicago field office, for which Lisbon was grateful: a first view of familiar landmarks precipitated a rush of unexpected emotions in her, many of which she didn't care to name. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Cho pulled onto I-90 to drive them into the city, and they drove for about twenty minutes in silence before Jane spoke up.

"The snow," he said, and there was something in his voice that Lisbon couldn't quite discern. "Is it always like this? All-encompassing? Just…everywhere?"

Lisbon turned around to get a look at his face, and she didn't need to call upon the lesson Jane had given her in reading microexpressions to determine what he was feeling.

His eyes were wide in childlike wonder, and she had to smile. "Yeah," she said, turning back to the front. "It's usually like this. You know, lake effect and all that. We had a lot of snow days because the school buses wouldn't be able to make it out to the houses. My brothers and I would spend the whole day having snowball fights."

She could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I could get used to this," he said.

Lisbon caught Cho's eye, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "Wait until you have to start shoveling a foot of that stuff," said Cho. "I bet you won't think it's so pretty then."

The city gradually came into view soon after that, appearing out of the low-lying clouds which threatened further snow. They continued driving south, keeping a route parallel with Lake Michigan. The roads were slick but not unmanageable, and eventually Cho pulled into the visitor parking lot of the FBI field office.

The building itself actually reminded Lisbon of the Austin headquarters, with its gleaming glass windows and modern design. However, the team didn't spend much time admiring the view, choosing instead to hurry inside as the first snowflakes of the day began to fall.

Van Pelt and Rigsby were already deep in conversation with a tall, blonde woman built much like a supermodel. Rigsby waved them over, and the woman introduced herself as Agent Camille Boardman. Lisbon took one look at her, decided she was intentionally downplaying her looks, and knew they'd get along well. Agent Boardman led the team down a hall and up an elevator, then showed them into a briefing room.

"I've been in contact with Agent Abbott since this case was opened," Boardman said, taking a seat at the head of the table and gesturing for the others to sit as well. "And he knows about as much as we do here regarding our progress so far. However, there have been a couple developments this morning. First of all, Lansky—the mob boss who wants to deal—has agreed to be questioned by you and your team, Agent Cho. Not that he has much choice," she added with a wry smile, "considering he needs to play up his usefulness to the investigation into Robert Lisbon's death in order to have some kind of chance at cutting a deal."

"Second of all?" prompted Cho.

Boardman nodded. "We've been working on getting the victim's body exhumed," she began. Lisbon saw Jane's eyes flash towards her, obviously concerned with Boardman's casual use of the word 'victim' to refer to Lisbon's father. Boardman continued. "But that's no easy feat this time of the year, with the ground frozen nearly solid. At any rate, it's being taken care of—just taking longer than we would have liked. The forensic anthropologist working out of the Field Museum has agreed to take on the case; he'll be available to complete the autopsy, which we hope will take place tomorrow morning."

Cho folded his hands, and Lisbon glanced around the room at her team. They looked far more composed than she felt. She wiped the sweat from her hands on her trousers under the table.

"Is Lansky available now?" asked Cho.

Boardman nodded again. "He's in the interrogation room just across the hall." She paused before continuing. "Anything else you need?"

"Actually," said Van Pelt, "I was hoping to start going through some digital records. You have a desk somewhere where I could make myself at home?"

"Of course," said Boardman, and Van Pelt followed her out. Cho nodded at Rigsby as the door shut behind the two women, and they both stood up from their seats to make their way across the hall.

Lisbon blinked when she realized Jane was standing beside her. She felt off-balance, as though the entire world were hazy and she couldn't quite see where she was going. She looked around and was surprised to find that she and Jane were the only ones left in the room.

He looked down at her, concerned, but didn't say anything.

She shook her head to clear it. "Sorry," she said, standing up, and she followed Jane out of the briefing room to take her place beside him in observation.

Cho and Rigsby were already seated in the adjacent interrogation room. Cho flipped on the mic lying on the center of the table.

"I'm going to record this—for your protection and for mine," he said tersely, and Lisbon's eyes were finally drawn to the mob boss.

Her first thought was that he looked surprisingly normal. He had brown hair and brown eyes, a build that was neither slim nor heavy, and a face set with features that were handsome but not memorable. Lisbon put his age at mid-sixties.

Lansky nodded.

"So you want a deal, huh?" said Rigsby, pulling out a notebook and pen.

"Wouldn't you?" said Lansky, in a raspy voice that Lisbon usually associated with smokers.

"I wouldn't have put myself in a situation that required a deal to be made," said Cho easily. "What information do you have about the death of Robert Lisbon?"

Lansky leaned back in his chair, raising the front two legs off the ground. "Right to the point, aren't you?"

Cho and Rigsby said nothing.

Lansky touched the chair back down. "Lisbon's death—however many years ago it happened—was ruled a suicide. Hell, it _looked_ like a suicide, even to me. But word gets around," he said. "I heard right after it happened that it wasn't what it appeared to be."

"And you kept this information to yourself for thirty or so years because…?" said Rigsby, failing to hide his annoyance.

"Because the guilty party is a Dellinger," said Lansky. "And I knew it would pay, sooner or later, to have some leverage on that family."

Jane looked over at Lisbon from their place behind the one-way mirror, confused.

"The Lanskys and Dellingers are rival mob families," she whispered. "Like the Capulets and Montagues, they go way back."

Meanwhile, Cho looked unimpressed. "I'm going to need more than that," he said.

Lansky leaned forward, his forearms now resting on the table. "Look, the story goes that Robert Lisbon's squad caught a fire in downtown Chicago at a known hangout of John Dellinger," he said. "Dellinger died in the fire—even though minimal damage was done. No other casualties. Dellinger's son, John Jr., began to get suspicious, so he looked into it. He got it into his head that Chicago Fire purposely let his father die in the blaze."

Rigsby spoke up. "Why would a firefighter let a victim die?"

Lansky smirked. "You may not have heard of the Dellingers, kid, but everyone else in this city has. They're thought to be behind one of the largest human trafficking operations in the Midwest. But they're smart—they don't leave a trace. Everyone wants the Dellingers dead, but no one can do a thing about it. Excluding Robert Lisbon, of course."

"So you're saying the firefighter recognized Dellinger and refused to pull him out of the fire?" said Cho.

"I'm saying Robert Lisbon was playing God. The wrong people found out, and that's what got him killed."

Lisbon hit the button to turn off the sound from the interrogation room. She'd heard enough.

Without hesitation, Jane pulled her into his arms in the darkness of the observation room. She resisted at first but after a few seconds crumbled against him.

She wanted to discount everything Lansky was saying. However, his words seemed to ring true.

Robert Lisbon had been a good father—for a while, at least. He'd loved his children, he'd protected them fiercely, and he'd taught them right from wrong.

But that had been before his wife had died. After that, he'd drunken himself into a stupor. It didn't seem much of a stretch to Lisbon to imagine her father—especially if he'd been liquored up—thinking he could play God. Robert Lisbon had always had a strong moral compass, and he'd instilled that same quality in his daughter. It was why she'd gone into law enforcement.

But if he'd been drinking— _and he had been drinking_ —his ability to think critically and make decisions would have been compromised. If he'd been drinking, he might have thought he had the right to make life or death decisions for the greater good.

 _Damn it_ , thought Lisbon, and she took a deep breath, her nose pressed into the crook of Jane's neck.

"You don't think Lansky's right, do you?" said Jane softly.

She shook her head against him.

"Actually," she said, "I do."


	3. Chapter 3: 'Til it Hurts or Bleeds

**AN: Thanks again for your support of this story! I apologize for the delay in posting. I planned a spur of the moment trip to travel to Canada for the Women's World Cup final, and the game was absolutely unreal. Message me if you're a soccer fan and we can squeal together about the beautiful game!**

 **At any rate, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter in the saga of Jane and Lisbon!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 3: 'Til it Hurts or Bleeds

The sound of Cho and Rigsby's chairs being pushed backwards startled Lisbon, and she quickly pulled away from Jane and composed her facial features. Jane took a step back from her, knowing she wanted to maintain her professionalism, but his eyes never left her face. She glanced at him and saw that his own visage showed signs of worry and confusion—he was having a difficult time reading her.

She congratulated herself. It was the first time she had been able to hide her emotions better than he had.

Rigsby and Cho soon opened the door to observation, and Lisbon turned away from the window to interrogation to face them. Jane's focus remained on her.

Rigsby looked uncomfortable, but Cho looked unfazed, and it was he who spoke.

"You think it's possible?"

Lisbon nodded. "More than possible. Probable, even," she said.

"Alright," said Cho, crossing his arms over his chest. "Rigsby and I will check out Dellinger, Jr. and ask him a few questions." His phone dinged, and he dug it out of his pocket to check the text that had just arrived. After a couple of seconds, his gaze returned to Lisbon. "They're still working on thawing the ground," he said, referring to the efforts to raise Lisbon's father's casket from the ground. "But they're almost done. You said you wanted to be at the exhumation…"

Lisbon swallowed and nodded again, this time more tersely.

Jane spoke for her. "We'll head over there now," he said, ushering Lisbon towards the door with one hand at the small of her back. Lisbon shot him a quick glance, attempting to convey a silent thank you.

Cho and Rigsby let them leave without another word.

* * *

The not-so-final resting place of Robert Lisbon was a small cemetery in a rather dingy suburb of Chicago, and Jane drove them there using Lisbon's directions and the keys he had pickpocketed from Cho. As per usual in Chicago winters, the heat in the car took a while to get going, and the car only became tolerably warm when they'd finally passed the stone arches that marked the entrance to the cemetery.

Though it had been years since she'd visited her father's grave, Lisbon could never forget its location, and the throngs of workers surrounding the site only made it easier to find. Jane and Lisbon slammed their car doors behind them and pulled on mittens and hats—they'd be here a while, and the cold had only become more biting as the day wore on.

Lisbon led Jane over gently sloping hills, making sure to stick to the paved pathways. Though they appeared to have been plowed earlier that morning, the afternoon snow had already started to accumulate.

She caught Jane glancing around the cemetery, and she wondered what he was thinking. She tried to put herself in his shoes. What the hell would she be thinking about if they were going to exhume one of Jane's parents? The answer came easily.

She'd be in pain. She'd be devastatingly pained on his behalf.

She wondered why that same pain didn't hit her now.

Was it because she was numb? Was she still in shock and unable to feel anything?

Or was it because there was nothing to feel? Had she given up on her father so completely that she didn't care anymore about what had happened to him?

The thought scared her, and she determinedly avoided Jane's eyes.

Together, they watched the snow—and later, the dirt—fade away from the grave. The casket was raised from the ground, and Jane stepped closer to her, his upper arm faintly touching hers.

* * *

Jane and Lisbon accompanied the coroner's van to Evanston, a city to the north of Chicago and the home of Northwestern University. The forensic anthropologist who would be performing the autopsy taught part-time at the university and also worked out of Chicago's Field Museum. His labs, however, were based on campus.

They parked near the anthropology building and only walked a short distance, but Lisbon caught Jane taking in the campus with the same reverent look he'd worn when he'd seen his first snowflakes. She smiled; Northwestern looked like a real-life Hogwarts, straight out of a Harry Potter book, with its view of the lake and old stone buildings covered in ivy.

"Why didn't you go to school here?" he asked quietly. "I think I could spend my entire life on this campus. It's breathtaking."

Lisbon smiled at him sadly. "Couldn't afford it," she said, her tone a little wistful. "It was one of my top choices, but it's private, and I wasn't offered enough scholarships for it to be feasible."

Jane looked at her. "Do you want to go back?"

The crime scene techs continued to wheel the casket ahead of them, but Lisbon stopped in her tracks. Jane stopped and turned around to face her.

"'Go back' to what?" asked Lisbon.

"Do you want to go to school here?" clarified Jane. "If it was your dream—do you want a degree from Northwestern? The year we spent in South America barely scratched a dent in my savings—"

Lisbon began walking again. "I have a degree," she said.

"You have a criminal justice degree from California. You do not have a music degree from Northwestern."

She stopped again, this time turning around to face him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jane. What would I do with a music degree?"

He shrugged. "Anything. Nothing. It doesn't matter. The point is getting the degree—getting to learn about music—would make you happy."

Lisbon thought about the role music had played in her relationship with Jane and in her life in general. The first song she'd written for Jane, when they'd been hunting down Red John, had been particularly cathartic. And Jane had loved listening to her play when they'd been in South America. Music had, in a way, brought them together in a way she never would have expected, and she didn't want to give that up.

But she couldn't think about any more life-altering decisions right now. Not today.

She told Jane so, and he gave her a small smile when he realized she hadn't said no to his question.

They began walking the last few steps to the entrance to the anthropology building.

* * *

Dr. Gabriel Clark, the forensic anthropologist, was an imposing presence, easily 250 pounds and nearly six feet tall. His auburn hair had started to fade to gray, and it hung low on his forehead, almost touching his eyebrows. He offered Lisbon a small smile in greeting and shook both her and Jane's hands.

He gave them each a pair of gray scrubs that matched his own, and Jane and Lisbon changed into the hospital garb before entering the autopsy room.

The first thing Lisbon noticed was the casket, still coated in chunks of dirt and seated on a table next to the main autopsy bay. Next to come to her attention was the gleaming silver of nearly all the surfaces in the lab. It looked impressive, far more so than the autopsy rooms she'd seen in California.

Private universities evidently had no lack of funding.

Clark grabbed a voice recorder and began to speak into it, and Lisbon and Jane moved closer to the casket. Lisbon looked up at the older man once he'd finished annotating.

"What will the remains look like?" she asked.

Clark squinted at her. "After thirty or so years, it's likely that there will be very little left besides the skeleton. You ready?" he asked.

She wasn't but said she was, and he opened the casket.

Lisbon had barely caught a glimpse of the body—true to Clark's prediction, it was all bony skeleton—before the forensic anthropologist breathed out deeply.

"Good god," he said.

Jane's head snapped up. "What?" he asked.

Clark pointed down at the chest. "What do you see there?"

Lisbon's eyes narrowed as she looked down at the ribs and the sternum. They looked intact and normal to her, though she was no forensic expert.

"I don't see anything," said Jane finally.

"Exactly," said Clark. "That's what's odd. We should be seeing signs of cuts—on the ribs, and also up here on the cranium." He pointed to the skull.

Lisbon and Jane looked at each other, not bothering to hide their confusion.

Clark hurried to explain. "When an autopsy is performed, the pathologist removes a triangle-shaped portion of the ribs over the heart to have easier access to the internal organs. Furthermore, a saw is used to cut around the entire circumference of the skull in order to remove the top portion so that the pathologist can access the brain. Thirty years ago, a pathologist signed off on an autopsy he had supposedly completed on the remains of Robert Lisbon."

Jane's eyes lit up with understanding. "But if there aren't any cuts from the saw…" he began.

"Then there was no autopsy," finished Lisbon.


	4. Chapter 4: Mosaic Broken Hearts

**AN: Thanks again for your support for this story and the kind words you all have left me regarding my work. I never cease to be amazed by the positive nature of this fandom, and I'm proud and honored to write for you. I hope this chapter provides some answers but raises even more questions!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Mosaic Broken Hearts

 _"_ _Thirty years ago, a pathologist signed off on an autopsy he had supposedly completed on the remains of Robert Lisbon."_

 _Jane's eyes lit up with understanding. "But if there aren't any cuts from the saw…" he began._

 _"Then there was no autopsy," finished Lisbon._

She could tell Jane wanted to discuss this revelation with her further, but with Clark still present and continuing to conduct his anthropological examination, it was neither the time nor place for such a conversation. Instead, Lisbon felt Jane's thumb brush faintly against the back of her hand before he stepped away from her and moved towards the examination table.

Lisbon took a deep breath and did the same.

The rest of the examination was methodical and seemingly devoid of anything out of the ordinary. Clark slowly assembled the bones in anatomical position—the entire body laid out with no bones crossing, thumbs positioned laterally so that the bones of the hands were facing palm side up—and eventually began to examine each bone. If there were anomalies, he documented them with photographs and notes. He also X-rayed the skull to get a better view of any evidence which may have been hidden inside the cranium.

After nearly two hours, Lisbon's back was becoming sore from standing in the same position so long, and she could tell by the way Jane shifted his weight from side to side that his feet had started to ache. Her attention was drawn back to the examination table when Clark picked up the skull.

"What type of gun was found at the scene?" he asked.

Lisbon told him, and Clark nodded. "Caliber of weapon registered to Robert Lisbon appears consistent with the size of the entrance wound," he said into his recording device. He looked up at Lisbon. "The X-rays of the skull showed the bullet is missing, as I expected," he said, pointing to another hole in the cranium—the exit wound. "Without the bullet, it becomes difficult to tie a certain gun to the crime."

Jane sighed and ran his hand over his face, but Lisbon looked over at Clark, intrigued.

"Difficult," she said, "but I'm guessing not impossible?"

Clark's eyes lit up as he nodded. "Definitely not impossible. I can take casts of the entrance and exit wounds. From these I might be able to reverse engineer the bullet—or at the very least, eliminate some types of guns. It'll take time, but it's doable."

"That would be much appreciated," Lisbon said.

"I have to warn you," cautioned Clark. "I'm not sure how much good it will do. Even if I can reverse engineer the bullet, it might only tell us that the bullet matches your father's gun. In that case, we won't have learned much of anything. But in the off-chance whoever killed him was stupid enough to use their own gun while using Robert's gun as a prop…"

Jane nodded. "If I've learned anything while working with law enforcement, it's to never underestimate the potential stupidity of a criminal."

"Even if it's a long shot, it's worth taking," agreed Lisbon.

* * *

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt met them for dinner at an Indian restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Van Pelt was still in the midst of pouring over financial records, a task made easier by Jane's suggestion that she look into the pathologist who had originally signed off on the uncompleted autopsy.

Van Pelt swallowed a bite of curry and spoke in a low voice. "A week after your father died, Lisbon, the pathologist—Bryant was his name—deposited a check for $30,000 into his savings account. It was in the middle of his pay period, so it wasn't his salary, and I couldn't find any other explanation for the deposit besides that he was paid off. I tried to look up his contact information, but he died six years ago."

"Damn," said Lisbon, leaning back in her chair and wishing she had ordered a milder dish. The Indian food was spicier than she'd bargained for. "Could you find any next of kin?"

"I had a young agent—kid named Wylie, looked like he graduated from Quantico last week—look into it. Wylie found Bryant's daughter; she just retired from teaching in South Chicago. I'll get Wylie to forward the contact info to you."

Lisbon nodded, and Cho spoke. "Dellinger refused to talk to us," he said.

"Well, we figured that would happen," said Lisbon half-heartedly.

"What we didn't figure was that the guy would look like a human punching bag," said Rigsby. "It was weird—spooky, even. There didn't seem to be a spot on him that wasn't scarred in some way. Fresh stitches above his eyebrow, long gash on his forearm—hell, even his ear looked like a bite had been taken out of it."

Jane shrugged. "So the guy probably has a rap sheet. Should be easy enough to find something to charge him with in order to bring him in."

Cho smiled—or as close to smiling as Cho could get. "That's what we were thinking."

"We looked into it," said Rigsby. "It's not just the Lanskys that this guy was feuding with—practically everyone in the city wants Dellinger behind bars. We checked out local pubs that Dellinger frequents. Turns out he hasn't been making any friends; in fact, he's been doing quite the opposite. He has a history of starting pub brawls. Been banned from quite a few places and tossed out of lot more."

"Perfect," said Lisbon. "Is at least one witness willing to speak to that?"

" _One?_ " said Cho, disbelieving. "Try fifteen."

Lisbon grinned.

"Bring him in."

* * *

"You're nervous."

Jane glared at her. "You're not even looking at me. How could you possibly know that?"

Lisbon smiled and continued to keep her attention on the road as she navigated the SUV towards another Chicago suburb. Though the snow had stopped falling while the team had been eating in the Indian restaurant, the roads were still slick, and Lisbon was driving a few miles per hour under the speed limit.

"I learned from you, remember?" said Lisbon, watching out of her peripheral vision as Jane rolled his eyes.

There was a long pause, and finally Jane spoke. "If you must know, I've never been introduced to a girlfriend's family before," he said. "And I seem to be finding the task downright daunting."

She shot a glance at him. "You met Angela's family, didn't you?"

"Of course," said Jane. "But that was long before she and I started dating. When we officially became a couple, I'd known her family for several years already. I've never dated anyone besides her—and you, of course, love. Thus, I've never been introduced to my girlfriend's family before. It's frustratingly anxiety-inducing."

"You're nervous about meeting Stan and Jimmy?" Lisbon asked, referring to her Chicago-based brothers.

He met her gaze. "They're your family," he said, "so, in a way, they're my family, too. And I want them to like me."

"That's such bullshit, Jane. Never in all the years I've known you have you worried about trifles such as first impressions." She paused before continuing in a softer tone. "What is it really? What are you concerned about?"

It took him a while to answer—so long that by the time he did, Lisbon was already pulling off the interstate on the exit that would take them to Stan's neighborhood. Lisbon hadn't phone ahead, and she felt almost as nervous as Jane looked—she'd disappeared off the grid for a year and hadn't been able to contact her family. She wasn't sure how they would react to her sudden reappearance.

"I guess I'm apprehensive that they'll be disappointed in you," Jane said finally.

"Why the hell would they be disappointed in me?"

"Because you chose me," said Jane simply.

Lisbon stopped at a deserted four-way intersection and put the car in park. She turned towards him.

"We both know there are plenty of men out there who would be far better for you than I am," said Jane. "I took you away from your family for a year, and I put you in danger by drawing Red John's attention to you. I haven't exactly been husband-worthy material."

Lisbon's stomach lurched at his mention of the word _husband_ —it had been the first time he'd alluded to them getting married, though they'd had several conversations about possibly expanding their little family in the future. She tried to push aside the wonder that one word instilled in her in order to focus on the conversation at hand.

Her eyes narrowed at him and flashed in the moonlight.

"There might be plenty of people out there who fit your definition of 'better for me'," Lisbon said testily, "but I don't happen to be in love with any of them. I'm in love with _you_. And you've saved my life as many times as I've saved yours, so no more using the ' _I've put you in danger_ ' excuse. We've had this discussion before, Jane."

He nodded. "I know," he said. "I know. And I _am_ working on it. I promise I am. Problem is there's just a lot of stuff to work through—it's going to take me some time."

She smiled. "I know," she said, taking his hand and returning her attention to the road. "Take all the time you need. We have lots of it."


	5. Chapter 5: Pierce the Room

**AN: Hello lovely readers! Many thanks for the continued interest in this story (and for response to the latest installment in the _In Case_ series). It's such a joy to write for you all.**

 **I'm particularly excited about this chapter because it addresses a throwaway sentence I tucked away in the middle of _When_ _I Fall_. I absolutely adore foreshadowing! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Pierce the Room

The wind for which Chicago was so famous had picked up on their drive to Stan's house, and though the walk to the porch was short, both Jane and Lisbon sported pink noses by the time Lisbon pressed her finger to the doorbell. Jane was nearly buzzing with nervous energy beside her, and Lisbon stretched up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, and he touched his lips to her forehead as they heard a heavy pair of feet approaching the door on the other side.

"Stan, who is it?" yelled a shrill voice.

"I'll let you know once I've opened the door, dear," came the reply, all sarcasm, and Lisbon grinned.

The door swung inward, and Lisbon got her first look at her brother in over a year.

"Hi Stan," she said tentatively.

Stan was a clearly Lisbon's brother: short but muscular, with emerald eyes and dark brown hair. Lisbon looked over him nervously as she waited for him to say something, but he stared at her for five whole seconds, jaw slightly lowered in confusion.

Finally, he spoke. "Tee?" he said, the disbelief in his tone obvious. After another second, he engulfed Lisbon in his arms, and she hugged him back enthusiastically. They broke apart, Stan clearly not concerned with the cold—or the fact that his bare feet were in contact with two inches of fresh snow.

"Teresa, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, a grin plastered across his face. The smile disappeared for a second. "Where the hell have you been for the better part of the year? Jimmy and I have been—we've been worried. Worried shitless."

"It's a long story," said Lisbon. "But maybe I could explain inside?"

"Right, of course," said Stan, and he stood aside to let them through. As Jane passed him, Stan finally seemed to notice his presence, and he gave Jane a scrutinizing look. "And you're Patrick," he guessed.

"Guilty," said Jane with a small smile and shrug. He stuck out his hand, and Stan shook it.

"You know," Stan said, in a tone that was both warm and warning at the same time, "Tee's told me a lot about you."

"Teresa never lies, so I own up to everything she's said I've done."

Stan examined Jane for a second. When he determined that Jane was being truthful, he clapped Jane on the shoulder and burst out laughing.

"So the story about the pony for her birthday—you actually did that?"

"Definitely guilty," said Jane, nodding.

"I like this one, Tee. I'm assuming he's here to stay?"

Jane glanced at Lisbon like he was interested to hear the answer to that question as well.

Lisbon blushed. "If I have anything to say about it, yes," she finally said.

Stan ushered them down the hallway. "Good," he said. "Took you both long enough."

Lisbon shot a glance at Jane as they followed Stan into the living room, and they were soon joined by Stan's wife, Karen, who had just put their children to bed.

After exclamations of greeting from Karen, who offered to pour some wine for her guests, the four of them sat down in the living room, though Stan soon got up to phone Jimmy. When he returned, he said, "Jimmy's heading over—he thought I was just messing with him when I said you'd finally showed up. Granted, most of what I do _is_ mess with him, but I can be serious when I need to be!"

Lisbon snorted. "Right."

"Of course you can, dear," said Karen, patting Stan lightly on his arm while mouthing _No he can't_ to Lisbon in exaggerated obviousness.

Mid-laugh, Lisbon looked over at Jane, and she nearly stopped breathing.

It was the first time in a long while that she had seen him smile so genuinely. He looked at peace—he looked _happy_. And finally it hit her.

Jane had a family again.

* * *

Jimmy arrived a half hour later, and though Lisbon was anxious to see how he and Jane would interact, she needn't have worried. Jane could charm almost anybody, and the Lisbon brothers—like their sister—weren't immune to his infectious grin and grandiose stories. By the time Lisbon suggested they leave—it was getting on 11 o'clock and they had a case to work in the morning—Jane actually looked disappointed.

In the car on the drive back to the hotel, Jane looked over at Lisbon. "You were particularly adept at dodging their questions as to why we were in town," he noted. "When are you going to tell them about the cold case?"

Lisbon glanced at him. "I need to tell them soon. But I just couldn't do it tonight. Not on the first night I'd seen them in over a year."

The snow had started up again, and Lisbon drove slowly as she navigated on slippery roads. "You noticed Jimmy's been gambling?"

Jane nodded. "He kept fiddling with something in his pocket—probably a pair of dice—and checking scores of sports events on his phone. He was subtle, but it was noticeable. How do you think he'd respond to hypnotherapy?"

"I don't know," said Lisbon. "I was thinking maybe he'd more open to it if _I_ was the one hypnotizing him. You think I'd be able to?"

Jane nodded. "I think that it actually has a better chance of working if you do it, since he knows you better and obviously trusts you."

Lisbon sighed. "Jimmy's not the only one I'm worried about," she admitted. "Stan mentioned he wants to start his own contracting business, but I think money is tight with him and Karen. I don't want him going to the wrong people for money."

"Hmmm," said Jane.

Lisbon pulled into the hotel parking lot and folded her arms across her chest. "Hmmm…what?"

"I've been looking for a business to invest in."

"Sheep dip."

"I'm serious! I'd be happy to help him out. And then later, when we decide to build the house of our dreams, Stan can return the favor."

"Jane, you can't keep offering to spend exorbitant amounts of money on me and my family. First with the offer to pay for Northwestern and now to finance Stan's business—it's crazy!"

"Meh," said Jane with a shrug. "But really, Lisbon, what's the point of having all this money just sitting around? It's of no use to me in a bank account or tied up in stocks."

"It makes me uncomfortable—accepting a gift like that," admitted Lisbon. "It's just too much."

"Teresa…" Jane began, and her expression softened at his use of her first name. "Look, Teresa, we're a family now—meaning everything I have is yours. The money's half yours now. If the idea of accepting money from me makes you uncomfortable, think of it like this: _you're_ financing your own education— _you're_ giving your brother a loan."

Lisbon wanted to stand her ground and defend her point, but Jane's reasoning was sound, and she couldn't argue with him. Eventually, she smiled shyly and shook her head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

His answering grin was ridiculously soppy. "I do."

Lisbon leaned across the center console and kissed him. She reached up to touch the side of his face.

"I love you."

Jane grinned. "I'm very happily aware."

* * *

The next day, Lisbon and Jane sat down with Jimmy and Stan to explain what they could about the case while Cho and Rigsby interviewed Dellinger, Jr. Neither session proved particularly illuminating: the Lisbon brothers had been too young at the time of their father's death to remember much of anything during that time period, and Dellinger, Jr. refused to utter a single word.

The day after that, Van Pelt and Wylie visited the daughter of the deceased pathologist, who told them that she'd attended a private university in Minnesota for college and that her parents had struggled to help her pay off her student loans.

"That explains why the pathologist took the bribe," Lisbon had said. "His daughter's tuition caused him to go into major debt."

After hitting a dead end trying to talk with Dellinger, Jr., the team became increasingly frustrated when interviews with friends and family of the Dellingers—both father and son—revealed little, though they did learn that the family was known for owning unregistered firearms. Jane waved this off. "Well, obviously," he'd said. "They _are_ a mob family."

The team's most promising lead arrived in the form of Scarlet Jackson, who was the girlfriend of Dellinger, Sr. at the time of his death and the adoptive mother of Dellinger, Jr. She voluntarily arrived at the FBI Chicago Field office for questioning when Rigsby called her in.

The whole team watched her from observation before Jane and Lisbon began the interrogation. "Why would she agree to come in voluntarily when Dellinger, Jr. wouldn't?" asked Rigsby thoughtfully.

"Beats me," said Van Pelt, "but the fact that she was willing to come down here either means she's innocent or incredibly arrogant."

"Could be both," said Cho with a shrug.

"Probably both," said Jane. "But I think we'll get something useful out of her regardless."

* * *

Jane opened the door to interrogation and stepped aside so Lisbon could enter first, and she pulled out a pen and notebook as Jane closed the door behind them. Lisbon sat in one of the two chairs facing away from the observation window; Jane ignored the other chair, choosing instead to stand in the corner of the room, looking surly and contemplative.

Lisbon introduced herself then informed Scarlet of her rights and that the interview would be recorded. As she recited the dialogue—spouted so many times in a previous life that it once again came naturally—Lisbon looked at the woman across the table from her. She was in her mid-sixties, but Lisbon would have guessed she was far younger—she had the kind of facial features which never seemed to age, giving the illusion that she was becoming more attractive with every passing year. Her blue eyes never left Lisbon and lingered for a second too long on Lisbon's cross necklace.

Lisbon's eyes narrowed. She'd seen that look on Jane many times when he tried to cold read someone. Hell, _she'd_ worn that same look when she tried to make deductions.

Jane coughed behind her, and she knew he'd noticed the same thing.

They'd have to be careful during this interview.

"Scarlet, you knew John Dellinger, Sr., correct?"

Scarlet nodded. "That's right," she said. "I met him the year I turned twenty-five. We were…" She searched for the right word before continuing. "We were acquaintances for many years before he died in that fire."

"'Acquaintances'?" asked Jane.

Scarlet sent him a condescending smile. "Isn't that what the kids are calling it these days?" She paused, her eyes moving from Jane to Lisbon and back again. "For example, it's obvious that the two of you are… _acquaintances_. I knew it from the moment you walked in together. Your auras practically scream sexual satisfaction."

Lisbon blushed furiously, and she had to look down at the table in order to pull herself together enough to use some of Jane's biofeedback techniques. "You're a psychic?" she asked when she'd gathered her composure.

"Holistic healer," corrected Scarlet impatiently. "There's a difference."

"Not to me," said Jane, ignoring Scarlet's deduction. "So you were sleeping with him, then? You must have been distraught when he died."

It was blunt, and a tad heartless, but Lisbon didn't reprimand him.

Scarlet's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're suggesting I killed the fireman who didn't save John?"

"No one said anything about murder," said Lisbon.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out that's why I'm here," said Scarlet scathingly. "I pay attention—Robert Lisbon, the fireman in question, was exhumed a few days ago. It's obvious you're looking into his death. Clearly, revenge is my motive."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. _Did she say what I think she just said?_

Scarlet continued. "I didn't say I did it. In fact, _I didn't_ , and you'll find that out once you've torn my life apart looking for evidence. Might as well save yourselves some trouble."

"Oh," said Jane, "it's really no trouble at all, but thank you for your concern."

Lisbon tried to get the interview back on track. Neither she nor Jane actually believed that Scarlet had killed Robert Lisbon, but hopefully she could give them something useful on their main suspect.

"How close are you with John Dellinger, Jr.?" asked Lisbon.

"Well, he's my stepson, so…" Scarlet answered, then said nothing. Very sarcastically.

"There's no record of a marriage between you and Dellinger, Sr." Lisbon noted.

"Ours was…a nontraditional sort of union," said Scarlet. "And you won't find any records stating that I adopted John either. But I did, and I raised him from the time he was five years old."

"Let's fast forward to the time of Robert Lisbon's death," said Lisbon. "Your stepson was about twenty years old at the time?"

Scarlet leaned back in her chair and let out an amused breath. "I see," she said. "You aren't interested in me at all. You think my stepson killed that firefighter."

"Did he?" asked Jane.

"You won't find any evidence which indicates he did."

Jane shifted behind Lisbon. "That's not the same thing as saying he's innocent," he pointed out.

"Did you or your stepson own any firearms at the time of Robert Lisbon's death?" asked Lisbon.

"Why are you asking me this? I'm sure you're well aware that he did."

"And I'm sure you're well aware that we've been unable to confirm which weapons he owned," added Lisbon coldly. Without word back from Clark, who was still attempting to reverse engineer the bullet, a warrant allowing them to search Dellinger's property had proved impossible to come by.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you," said Scarlet, with a disdainful look at Lisbon, and she said no more.

Lisbon shot a glance over at Jane and was surprised to see a similar look of disdain on his face, though his was directed at Scarlet. Lisbon turned her attention back to the woman sitting across from her. She glanced over Scarlet's face curiously, knowing there was some connection she needed to make—but her brain couldn't quite bridge the neural gaps.

Suddenly, Lisbon tensed.

 _Holy shit_ , she thought, and then: _Damn it._

She internally debated her options. After a few seconds, she determined her theory was highly improbable, but she would lose nothing by testing said theory. She began threading together a story out loud, knowing Scarlet's reactions would tell her whether or not she was close to the truth.

Lisbon closed her notebook. "You married Dellinger, Sr. after leaving an abusive relationship?" she asked, feeling quietly triumphant when the blood drained from Scarlet's face.

She heard Jane move behind her, and she knew he was wondering what she'd picked up on that he'd missed.

Lisbon continued. "Dellinger saved you, isn't that right, Scarlet? The man you were previously married to abused you—emotionally and physically."

"How the hell…there are no records of _either_ of my marriages…"

"Your abuser—he was a nomad, and when you fell in love with him, you didn't know of his history of abuse," said Lisbon. "But after two years—and a baby—you knew you had to get out. And Dellinger happened to find you precisely when you needed an escape."

" _How the hell do you know this?_ " breathed Scarlet.

"But you had to leave the baby," Lisbon said, her voice wavering slightly. "You couldn't go back for the baby—because your first husband threatened you, and it wasn't safe."

Scarlet's eyes were wide and anxious. Lisbon watched her with revulsion and horror—because Lisbon knew who the abandoned baby had grown up to be.

Jane.

Lisbon turned around in her seat to face him, and he took one look at her distraught face and put the pieces together. His mask slid back into place.

Jane hadn't needed to mask his emotions in nearly a year, ever since he'd agreed to teach Lisbon his secrets in South America. Seeing the mask once again made Lisbon sick.

Jane crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to Lisbon. He reached for her hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. Lisbon forced herself to calm down.

Meanwhile, Scarlet had finally composed herself. "I don't see how any of that is relevant to your investigation."

Jane ignored her. "Your first husband's name was Alexander Jane."

Lisbon felt his hand tense in hers. She squeezed back.

Scarlet ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. "I haven't heard that name in nearly forty years," she breathed, and her eyes narrowed at Jane. She glanced over him, taking in his hands, his face, the set of his shoulders, his hair. Finally she breathed in sharply and put a hand over her mouth.

" _My god_ ," she said. "Your aura…it's _his_."

Jane just stared at her, never moving an inch.

"Patty?" asked Scarlet in a low voice.

Jane stood up from his chair. "Thanks for keeping in touch," he said, and he walked out of the room, leaving Lisbon staring, flabbergasted, at the door as it slammed behind him.

* * *

 **AN: For those wondering, Jane's mother was brought up in Chapter 5 of _When I Fall_ when Jane gave Lisbon his mother's jewelry box.**


	6. Chapter 6: Just You and Me

**AN: Thanks again for reading this story, for your enthusiasm, and for making this fandom so fun to write for even after the show has finished airing.**

 **I know last chapter was really case/angst heavy, so here's something lighter and fluffier. I'm particularly fond of the convo Jane and Lisbon have at the end, and I hope you enjoy it as well!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 6: Just You and Me

Lisbon rushed out the door after Jane, not sparing another glance for Scarlet. She caught a glimpse of Jane's blond curls before he turned a corner down the hall, and she made to move after him when the door to observation opened and Van Pelt stepped out.

"We got this, Lisbon," she said, her face drained of color and leaving no doubt in Lisbon's mind that the others had figured out the reason for Jane's abrupt disappearance. "Take all the time you need."

Lisbon nodded at Van Pelt and tried to thank her, but no words came out. Instead, she hugged the redhead quickly but firmly then headed off in the direction Jane had gone.

She stopped to pick up both their jackets before following Jane out to the car, which he'd already started. He was shivering in the passenger side when she climbed into the driver's side, and she handed him his coat, which he put on slowly, as if he were numb or in a trance.

Lisbon cranked the heater all the way up and pulled out of the FBI parking lot.

After driving for fifteen minutes, Lisbon decided to break the silence.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

He didn't look over at her, but his left hand moved to the center console between them, lying palm-up. "Yes," he said. "Don't let me be alone."

She put her hand in his, immediately noticing his erratic pulse. Lisbon took a couple of deep breaths, and she was relieved when his heart rate went back to normal.

They drove for another quarter of an hour, eventually leaving the interstate for a series of backroads through flat, agricultural land now covered, of course, by a thick layer of sparkling snow. Finally, they approached a complex of sports fields. Jane took in the snow-covered fields and empty soccer goalposts and bleachers with curiosity.

Lisbon pulled the key out of the ignition. "My school didn't have a girls' soccer team," said Lisbon, "so I played on a boys' club team. The state championship was held here when I was twelve."

"You won?"

Lisbon smiled. "No," she said. "We lost in the final game—in overtime. It was heartbreaking, but I think, in the long run, losing made us better people than winning ever could have."

Jane withdrew his hand from hers and stepped out of the car. Lisbon grabbed a blanket from the backseat—always an essential item to travel with in a Midwest winter—and followed him.

"What field?" he asked.

Lisbon nodded to their left, and they began to make their way through the snow to the field she'd indicated.

Lisbon sat down at the bottom of the bleachers, wrapping the blanket around herself and opening one side to Jane. He sat beside her, and she threw the blanket over his shoulders as well.

"What position did you play?" asked Jane, looking out across the barren field.

"Well," said Lisbon, "when I was little I played keeper. But eventually, I was deemed too short to be able to defend the net well, so they switched me to defense."

Jane chuckled. "I should've known."

Lisbon leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jane."

He kissed the top of her head. "Nothing for you to be sorry for."

"Is it wrong that I just want to scream and cry and throw a tantrum at how awful the world can be sometimes?"

"That makes two of us." He was silent for a while before speaking again. "You realize that if we're right and our main suspect is guilty, my brother killed your father? How freaking messed up is that?"

Lisbon slid her arm through his. "Well, to be fair, he was adopted," she said, deadpan.

Jane looked over at her, and she could tell he was trying to fight a smile. Eventually he gave in, and her heart unclenched at the sight of his grin.

Lisbon reached a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. Her tone became serious again. "But, hey, if you're going to be thinking like that, then it's only fair to acknowledge that my father killed your stepfather via neglect. So both of our families are pretty messed up."

"Good thing we turned out okay, then," said Jane, all sarcasm. "A pseudo-psychic conman and a cop with trust issues."

"Neither of us are those things anymore," Lisbon pointed out gently.

A strong wind blew across the field, and Jane pulled the blanket around them tighter. "I'd always imagined she was dead," he eventually said. "It was the easiest and least painful explanation for my mother's absence, though at various low points in my life I imagined different scenarios with her still alive—addicted to heroin, or on death row for some crime or another. Reality, in this case, is far worse than anything I'd imagined."

Lisbon kissed his shoulder. "Cho told me once that we are defined by our choices rather than our abilities," she said. "I don't remember the exact quote, but it was from some book he was reading at a particularly rough time during the Red John case. Anyway, I've been thinking about his words a lot recently—they just seem rather fitting right now. And sometimes I just need a reminder that it doesn't matter what situations we're born into—what matters is what we make of the situation. _What matters are the choices we make_. I didn't choose to be my father's daughter, but I chose _you_ , and that bond is so much stronger than sharing some random molecules of DNA."

Jane properly looked at her for the first time since storming out of the interrogation room. The wrinkles on his face were more prominent, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than they'd been this morning, but there was a determination in his eyes that had been missing since they'd made that enormous discovery at the field office.

He leaned towards her, grabbing her hips under the blanket and pulling her closer. His lips met hers, softly at first and then with more force.

"You chose me," he murmured against her lips. "God, I like the sound of that."

"Get used to it," she whispered back. "It appears to be a common occurrence in my life—choosing you, I mean."

He rested his forehead against hers. "I could definitely get used to that." His fingers touched her face. "You're freezing," he noted, concerned. "Come on." He stood up, pulling out from under the blanket and wrapping it more securely around Lisbon, and she threaded her arm through his again.

"You know, Jane," said Lisbon as they trudged their way back through the snow, "the city may not look it now, but Chicago is a prime location for weddings."

Jane's hand twitched in hers, but he did not otherwise react to her statement. "Is it really? I had no idea," he said, his tone teasing.

"Oh, for sure," said Lisbon, playing along.

Jane nodded. "So what time of year best shows off what Chicago has to offer as far as wedding venues?" His tone was far too innocent, Lisbon thought, and she ducked her head and smiled.

"Definitely late spring or early summer—June or even late May. Although with May you have to be careful—we once got a foot of snow on May 7th."

"So outdoor weddings are the general preference?" asked Jane.

It was clearly apparent that Jane didn't care much for most people's preferences—rather, he was only interested in one particular person's preference—but Lisbon continued to play along.

"Well, some Chicago natives prefer outdoor weddings. As to people who live elsewhere, well, I'd like to know the answer to that myself."

"Everyone prefers a good outdoor wedding, Lisbon," said Jane, and she could hear him smiling around his words. "Are these things generally enormous shindigs? Like 'invite your high school English teacher' kind of celebrations?"

Lisbon laughed. "Not so much. It's more akin to 'invite only your closest friends and family.' But brides here are really willing to do anything to make their husbands-to-be happy, so if the groom wants a big wedding, she'd say yes."

"I'm sure most grooms would prefer the former," said Jane, stopping in his tracks. Lisbon looked up at him. "What brought this on, Teresa? Don't tell me it had anything to do with the morning we just had."

Lisbon shrugged her shoulders. "Well, yes and no," she admitted. "I actually started thinking about weddings the moment we stepped off the plane at O'Hare because we passed a couple very obviously just returning from their honeymoon. But just now I got to thinking…"

"About?" prompted Jane.

"I think that we're ready," she said honestly, shrugging again and smiling hopelessly. "We've known each other a decade now; we've faced more together in that time than most couples would face in multiple lifetimes. And then, if that weren't enough, we faced _more_ today when we learned how our families had already been connected before we'd even met." Lisbon's expression became earnest. "And we handled it. Just now," she said, gesturing back to the bleachers where they'd been sitting. "Look at how we handled that news. That discovery would have _destroyed_ most people—but it just made us more solid. We're ready, I think, to start talking about officially joining our lives together because, at least in my opinion, we're already unofficially accomplished that same thing a thousand times over."

"You really want a Chicago wedding?" Jane asked, a grin beginning to form on his face.

"Only if it's what you want," said Lisbon, grabbing his hand.

He pulled her towards him, crushing her body against his, and peppered kisses upon her face. "Of course it is," he said between kisses. "Of course it's what I want."

His hands were still sliding up and down her back, pulling her body into his and causing her back to arch. She leaned her head back a fraction of an inch and held his face between her mitten-covered hands.

"I'm glad," she whispered. "We already know we choose each other. Now the rest of the world can know as well."

* * *

 **AN: Yes, I had to throw a Harry Potter quote in there. JK Rowling is pure perfection, and her words are always applicable :)**


	7. Chapter 7: Our Slates are Clean

**AN: I'm continually blown away for the support I've been getting for this story (and the other stories in this trilogy), so thank you for reading! There's still three chapters left, so we're not quite finished yet. And no worries - I'm planning on sticking around long after this story is finished. Let the fandom never die!**

 **For those who were wondering, the Harry Potter quote I mentioned in the last chapter was spoken by Dumbledore. The actual quote: "It is our choices, Harry, that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities."**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 7: Our Slates are Clean

The next morning, Lisbon and Jane walked into the FBI conference room that their team had commandeered and found a pale, blond young man typing away at a computer. He looked up and smiled at Lisbon when she entered. Lisbon was taken aback for an instant, thinking he looked much too young to be a federal agent—he looked far more like a student who'd just signed up for his first semester of college classes. She pushed the thought aside.

"You must be Agent Lisbon—and Mr. Jane," the young man said, standing up from his computer and shaking both of their hands.

"Just 'Lisbon'," corrected Lisbon.

"Just 'Jane'," said Jane at the same time.

The blond man kept smiling, seemingly unfazed in the presence of the two older professionals. "I'm Jason Wylie. I've been working with Grace Van Pelt—Agent Cho sent her and her partner to talk with the forensic anthropologist, who had just left a message."

"What did the message say?"

"Dr. Clark didn't give many details, but he did say that he'd finished trying to reverse engineer the bullet. He didn't say if he was successful. I'm currently compiling a list of all the registered weapons Dellinger, Jr. has owned," Wylie said, gesturing to his computer. He grimaced. "And there are _a lot_ of them. Even more, I'd bet, that aren't registered."

Jane looked over at Lisbon. "I don't think we're going to have much luck with trying to match the weapon after all," he said.

"We knew it was a long shot," she agreed. "Where's Cho?"

"Agent Abbott called, and Agent Cho is currently speaking with him."

Lisbon walked around the conference table and took the lid off of a box of files. The box was heartbreakingly empty even after all the work they'd done on the case. Lisbon grabbed a couple of files on Dellinger, Jr. and handed them to Jane. She grabbed a few others for herself.

"Until Cho gets back and informs us what he wants to do next, let's help Wylie," she said, and Wylie beamed again at her offer. "Anything we can find on weapons Dellinger may have had access to, or anything we can find on him at all might be helpful."

By the time Cho arrived seventeen minutes later, Lisbon had very little to show for what she'd gone over. Jane had begun laying out pictures of Dellinger, Jr. on the conference table, ordering them based on the year they'd been taken and making a sort of timeline. He didn't look up when Cho spoke.

"I just finished talking with Abbott," said Cho. "He's frustrated with the case, just like we are, but he doesn't have any suggestions beyond what we're already doing."

Lisbon looked at Cho's body language. He seemed tenser than usual. "Is he going to take us off the case if we don't find something soon?"

"No," said Cho, and he sat down beside Lisbon. "But he did just tell me that his wife got that promotion she'd been hoping for."

Wylie's typing became inconsistent, as though he were trying but not quite succeeding in keeping his focus on his work rather than the conversation Lisbon and Cho were having.

"Well, that's good news, right?" asked Lisbon. "It's kind of a big deal for her."

"It's good news for Lena Abbott," confirmed Cho. "But Abbott himself didn't see her getting this promotion for another two years at least. And now that she's got the job, the two of them are moving to DC."

Lisbon's heart sank as she put two and two together. "So Abbott's passing up his promotion to move with her."

"The promotion is going to go to someone else well-established in Austin," said Cho. "But they'll want to handpick their own team, and it doesn't seem like the spots will go to us."

"What did Abbott have to say about this?" asked Lisbon, frustrated.

"He's going to make a bunch of calls. The job he's already got lined up in DC is pretty high up, so he has some good connections. He still promised to get us all positions with the Bureau—if we still want them—though he can't guarantee we'd all be on the same team. Maybe not even in the same city."

"And Abbott can't build his own team in DC?" asked Lisbon. Washington was beautiful, she thought vaguely. In her opinion, it was a step up from Austin.

Cho shook his head. "Doesn't work that way."

Lisbon sighed and leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes.

An image of Northwestern University flashed before her, its grounds covered in fresh snow.

She pushed the thought away and opened her eyes to look at Cho. She nodded. "Guess we'll have to wait and see, then, right?"

Jane finally looked up, having been deaf to their entire conversation. "I found something," he said.

"Yeah?" said Cho, standing up and walking over to Jane's side of the table. Lisbon followed him.

Jane gestured to two photos of a twenty-something year old Dellinger, Jr. from the timeline he'd created.

"This photograph is dated to five days before the death of Lisbon's father," said Jane. "And this photo—two days _after_. Notice anything?"

Lisbon glanced over both photos, lost, but Cho spotted it right away. "He has a chunk missing from his ear in this photo," Cho said, pointing first to the picture taken after the murder and then to the other photo. "But the ear's intact in the picture from before."

Lisbon looked again. It was a good catch, she admitted, since Dellinger seemed to be so thoroughly disfigured by scars that they all blended together.

"Exactly," said Jane. "How likely is it that Dellinger, Jr. got into a major fight the same week he killed Lisbon's father?"

Cho shrugged. "Well, judging by the state of him…"

"Meh," said Jane. "Balance of probability. It's far more likely that a part of his ear got ripped off in a struggle that preceded the murder of Robert Lisbon than it is that the injury occurred in an unrelated struggle which happened to occur around the same time."

"What are you thinking, Jane?" asked Lisbon, vaguely registering that Wylie wasn't even trying to pretend he was typing anymore.

"I think that your father fought back," said Jane. "He knew Dellinger was trying to kill him, and he fought back—he managed to take a bite out of Dellinger's ear."

"And?" prompted Cho.

"I think we can get that DNA," said Jane.

Lisbon shook her head. "Even if my father bit off part of Dellinger's ear, the saliva in his mouth would contain enzymes to break down the tissue—there wouldn't be anything left now, almost thirty years later."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Jane. "But what if the tissue got wedged between the teeth? The salivary enzymes wouldn't be able to reach it, right? And the tissue—with Dellinger's DNA—would be preserved?"

Cho looked at Jane for a full fifteen seconds, mentally balancing the probabilities.

"I'll call Rigsby and Van Pelt," he finally said. "They're already speaking with Clark—I'll get them to ask if your idea is possible."

* * *

Jane's idea turned out not only to be possible but entirely plausible. Cho received a call about an hour later from Van Pelt confirming that Clark had found tissue wedged between Robert Lisbon's superior right incisor and canine. The forensic anthropologist then called in a favor with a forensic geneticist buddy of his, and the geneticist had begun to run the DNA analysis by the time the team called it a day. Though they'd still need a sample for comparison, it was a start.

After supper with the team at a Chicago-style pizza place, Lisbon called Jimmy, who agreed to meet her for a late night hot chocolate run, a childhood tradition she knew he wouldn't be able to decline.

"So…" said Lisbon nervously, lifting the Starbucks cup to her lips even though she knew her hot chocolate would be too warm to drink. She took a sip anyway, and the steaming liquid made her eyes water.

"So," countered Jimmy, taking the lid off his beverage, apparently far more at ease than Lisbon was. Behind them, the barista yelled out a name, and a college-aged couple went to pick up their order.

"So I guess you know what I want to talk to you about," said Lisbon, choosing her words carefully and speaking in a low tone to make it difficult for others to overhear.

Jimmy nodded. "I do," he said. "But here's the thing, sis—as usual, you're trying to be the parent."

"Someone's got to look out for you," said Lisbon pointedly.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Look, Tee, that's fine. I get it. I do. But I don't need someone looking out for me—because I'm not gambling anymore."

Lisbon set her cup down and stared at him. "Right," she said, disbelieving.

Jimmy dug in his jeans pocket and flicked a small object over in her direction. Lisbon caught it just as it was about to sail past her ear.

It was an engraved chip, like the kind given out at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. It read:

 _James Lisbon—3 months_

Lisbon turned the chip over in her hand and looked up at her brother. "You haven't gambled in three months?" she whispered.

"It'll be four next Tuesday," said Jimmy, nodding. "Stan says I only do it because the guys at Gambler's Anonymous buy me cake every month to celebrate."

Lisbon chuckled and handed the chip back over.

"If you don't believe me, I bet those nerds you work with can open up my financial statements and tell you so you can know for sure."

"I believe you," said Lisbon. "I was just…I was just worried about you. I know I haven't been the best sister in the world recently—especially in the last year. And I was just worried because this seemed to happen when I was away…"

She paused for a second to take a deep breath before continuing.

"And I never would have forgiven myself if you'd needed my help and I wasn't around."

Jimmy took a long sip of his hot chocolate. "Life is good, Tee. It got a little rough there when I was paying off my debts, but Stan helped me out, and I've been keeping up with my monthly payments to him."

"Stan paid off your debts?"

"I couldn't get money anywhere else. It's really unfortunate timing, though, because he was trying to start his own business. And I made that more difficult."

"How much do you still owe him?"

"I only have ten grand left on my payments."

Lisbon tapped the lid of her hot chocolate. "Let me pay Stan the money, and you can just pay me back on the schedule you arranged with him. That extra money would help him be stable enough to finally begin looking into starting that business up."

"So your boyfriend's rich, then?" said Jimmy, a teasing glint in his eyes.

She shot Jimmy a look. "I have enough locked up in investments and savings to cover ten grand, Jimmy," she said. "But Jane will probably insist on chipping in."

"You could just not tell him."

Lisbon smiled wryly. "You can't really keep secrets from Jane," she said. "Plus, we try not to keep secrets from each other. It makes things easier."

"Well," said Jimmy, "he's no Woody Squire, but he seems alright."

Lisbon balled up a napkin and shot it at him. Jimmy ducked, and it flew over his shoulder only to bounce harmlessly against the window. The barista glared at them.

"Actually," said Jimmy seriously, "he seems more than alright. I'm glad all that waiting was worth it, Tee. You seem really happy."

"Neither Jane nor I were ready to be in a relationship all those years ago," said Lisbon thoughtfully. "But yes, he was definitely worth the wait."

"Mom would've liked him."

Lisbon's eyes, which had previously been intensely examining a hangnail on her thumb, darted up to meet Jimmy's.

"You think so?"

Jimmy nodded. "He has a great sense of humor, and it's obvious he adores you—he gets this soppy look on his face whenever you two make eye contact."

"He does not!"

"Just pointing out the obvious, Tee," said Jimmy with his hands up in a defensive _don't shoot the messenger_ posture. "So I am going to become an uncle again anytime soon?"

"I think we've decided we want to get married first," hedged Lisbon.

"Ah, a wedding! Even better—if there's an open bar, that is."

Lisbon tossed her mittens at his head.

* * *

Jane was already asleep by the time Lisbon returned to their hotel room after leaving Starbucks. But despite her attempts to quietly climb into bed, Jane shifted, turning towards Lisbon to envelop her in his arms.

She sighed contentedly when he kissed her forehead and mumbled sleepily, "I missed you."

She almost felt compelled to point out that they'd only been separated for three hours, but instead she decided on, "I missed you, too."

"How'd the talk go?"

"He showed me his three month chip. It'll be four next week."

Jane tensed, surprised. "How'd we both get that wrong?" he asked incredulously.

Lisbon shrugged. "Don't know. But I'm glad we were." She paused, and her heart started beating faster as if it were anticipating her next words. She was fairly certain Jane noticed immediately. "Jimmy said that Mom would've liked you," she said finally.

Jane's eyes opened, and the faint light from the window reflected in them back to her. "He did?"

Lisbon nodded. "I really wish you could have met her. Although she'd probably start fawning over you—because let's face it, you'd whip out that charm smile of yours and she'd be toast."

"I do not have a _charm smile_ ," said Jane indignantly, saying the last two words with a particularly vehement feigned revulsion.

"Oh yeah?" said Lisbon. "I beg to differ. I've been on the receiving end of it more times that I can count."

"Does it work?"

"And you just admitted to it—I win," said Lisbon.

Jane rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. I concede defeat. But does the charm smile work on you?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes right back at him. "Of course it does, Jane! Why do you think I'm in bed with you right now?"

"You may have won that battle, Lisbon, but I think I just won the war," said Jane, and he leaned over to kiss her.

She felt the very same smile he'd been trying to deny against her lips.


	8. Chapter 8: A Ruthless Game

**AN: Thanks again to you all for your support of this fic. Your words never fail to bring a smile to my face, and I'm so glad that I get to share this story with you. I apologize for taking a while to update; I had originally written this chapter differently, but I wasn't quite satisfied with how it turned out. So I rewrote it, and I like this version far more than the original. I hope you all enjoy it as well.**

 **We're getting to the end of this trilogy – one more chapter to tie everything up, and then the epilogue, and that's it! What a wild ride. Of course, I'll keep writing for The Mentalist, but it will probably be in the form of oneshots since multichaps tend to be much more draining. So keep your eye out for more work from me in the future!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 8: A Ruthless Game

"It's really bothering you, isn't it?" asked Lisbon. She and Jane had just finished breakfast at their hotel, and she was now driving them both to meet the rest of the team at the FBI field office.

Jane stared out the window, taking in the way the rare winter sunshine refracted off of the snow.

"Not so much bothered as unsettled," he finally admitted. "I don't usually read people wrong."

"Look, Jane, I know you're good, but nobody's _that_ good."

"But you read Jimmy wrong as well," he pointed out. "It's statistically unlikely for both of us to get the wrong impression. We act as a sort of check and balance system in that way. If I misinterpret something, you're there to remind me of another possible explanation—and vice versa." Jane glanced at her, concerned. "I'm just worried that something else is going on here."

"Look," said Lisbon, putting on her turn signal and merging lanes, "we drew the erroneous conclusion that Jimmy was gambling because of two things: him fidgeting in his pocket with something—at the time, we thought it was a pair of dice—and him checking his phone. Turns out he was fidgeting with his three month chip. We don't know about the phone; for all we know, he could have been checking messages from a new girlfriend." She softened her tone. "I called Stan last night on my way to the hotel, and he confirmed Jimmy's story."

Jane sighed. "I just want everything to be okay. He's your brother, and you care about him—so I care about him. Maybe I was just overanalyzing everything because of that."

"Hey, we both overanalyzed the situation," said Lisbon, shooting him a soft smile. "You know how doctors aren't allowed to have their family members as patients because it's difficult for them to remain objective? Maybe the same thing stands for reading people."

Jane looked like he was about to argue, but Lisbon watched out of the corner of her eye as he processed her words, and his body language conceded to her that she'd made a good point. "Fair enough," said Jane. "That would explain why I have a difficult time getting a read on you more recently."

"You do?" asked Lisbon, taking the exit that would bring them to the field office.

"You were certainly easier to read when I first met you," confirmed Jane. "At the time, I had less invested in you—and less emotional attachment. It was easy to stay objective then. It's not nearly as easy now. My emotions make everything about reading you slightly hazy." He smiled at her. "And this haziness, I guess, extends to your family as well. You realize, Lisbon, that though you are the person I know best in the world, you are the hardest for me to read?"

"You always were drawn to mysteries—it explains a lot actually," said Lisbon, glancing over at him. "Listen, Jane, I've been thinking about the case…"

"Oh god, don't say that," said Jane with a look of apprehension. "You _always_ say that when you're about to suggest something dangerous. Can't we be done with dangerous, Lisbon? Can't we just be a normal couple with a tulip garden and a dog?"

Lisbon sighed. "I want to wrap this case up. You know how much this means to me."

Jane held her gaze until she returned her eyes to the road. "I do," he said. "I do know how much this means to you. Actually, it has come to mean just as much to me. But I'm not willing to sacrifice your safety in order to solve a case, Lisbon—no matter how important it is to you."

Lisbon took his hand. "We need a DNA sample from Dellinger, Jr. for comparison. All I'm suggesting is a means by which to obtain that sample."

Jane grimaced. "Why do I have the feeling that whatever this plan is, I'm not going to like it?"

* * *

Lisbon opened the door to the bar. Frozen air from outside swooshed past them into the building, exchanging places with the smoke and loud music which rushed outside. Jane adjusted the baseball cap on his head.

"What team is this for anyway?" he asked.

"The Bears. They're a football team," said Lisbon, raising her voice over the music, and the door swung shut behind her. "And they're playing tonight against the Packers. One of the NFL's greatest rivalries."

Jane snorted. "Why put a football team on something that's called a baseball cap? These sports you enjoy, Lisbon, don't seem to make a lot of sense."

Lisbon turned around to eye her partner. For once, he was clad in jeans, and she didn't deny that the bar-inspired attire oddly suited him. "Quit talking like that here, Jane, or you'll blow our cover."

And she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him further into the bar.

They passed a particularly pale head of hair, and Lisbon made sure to avoid making eye contact with Wylie, who was sitting near Michelle Vega—another young agent—at the end of the bar nearest the door. Wylie was completely absorbed in whatever story Vega, a feisty-looking brunette with dark eyes and a witty smile, was telling him.

Jane leaned over to whisper in Lisbon's ear. "Wylie looks enamored, doesn't he?"

Lisbon nodded, grinning to herself. When she'd picked Vega to complete the quartet for the assignment, she hadn't counted on Wylie falling in love with her as soon as they'd met. But Wylie's admiration of Vega had actually worked in the team's favor, as the two younger agents actually looked like the couple they were supposed to be playing.

Cho's voice came over Lisbon's earpiece. "Vega spotted Dellinger at the back of the bar twenty minutes ago," he said.

Though Lisbon would have preferred the assistance of Cho, Rigsby or Van Pelt over the less experienced Wylie or Vega, Van Pelt's pregnancy had precluded her from being able to help out, and Rigsby and Cho had already interviewed Dellinger and would be easily recognized by him. Vega had already proved valuable, however—she was the one who'd tracked Dellinger into the Irish pub Jane and Lisbon had just walked into.

Lisbon hoped Jane's worries about her idea would be for naught—all they had to do was acquire something of Dellinger's—a beer bottle, or even a used napkin—which had his DNA. They wouldn't even have to make contact with the man himself.

However, the bar was massively crowded that night, and getting close enough to steal a bottle or napkin proved more difficult than Lisbon had imagined. After thirty minutes of maneuvering, Lisbon became frustrated when Dellinger's third empty bottle (by her count; he'd certainly had more before she'd arrived) was whisked away by the barman before she had a chance to get to it.

Not long after that, the Packers scored a touchdown, and Dellinger furiously smashed his fourth bottle of beer onto the counter in front of him. The glass shattered, and the liquid spilled out on either side of him, soaking an unfortunate Packers fan.

"Watch it, buddy," said the Packers fan, his cheesehead hat tilting precariously and his words slurring together.

"Watch the freaking game, moron. And enjoy it while you're ahead—your shitface of a quarterback has got nothing on us."

The Packers fan smiled ironically. "Yeah, well, speaking of shitface quarterbacks…"

Dellinger didn't seem to understand the insult but knew somehow that he _had_ been insulted. Instead of returning the volley in the verbal sparring match, he swung his right fist around, connecting with the other man's stomach. The Packer fan fell to the ground with a large crash.

The bartended, however, didn't turn around until the Packers fan had retaliated, swinging at—and connecting with—Dellinger's face. Blood started to spill from Dellinger's nose, and the man with the cheesehead was thrown out. The area around Dellinger quickly cleared out as people tried to escape the blood flow.

Jane and Lisbon moved slightly closer, and Lisbon got her first view of Dellinger, Jr. in person. If anything, Cho and Rigsby's description—and the pictures she had looked at—didn't do his injuries justice. Sure enough, the long gash on his forearm was striking, and the fresh stitches on his eyebrow appeared to be healing nicely. And underneath all the blood on his face, which Dellinger was attempting to absorb with a few napkins, Lisbon noticed that his nose was crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice before.

Dellinger motioned to the barman for another beer, but the barman wisely cut him off, and Dellinger got up to toss the bloody napkins into the trash. Frustrated, Lisbon let out a groan. No beer bottles and no napkins—where the hell was she going to get DNA from now?

Jane tapped her on her shoulder and touched a finger to his upper lip, just underneath his nose. Lisbon looked at him, confused, before she realized he was referring to Dellinger.

Sure enough, a trickle of blood was still leaking out of one of his nostrils.

"I abhor absolutely every single aspect of what I'm about to suggest," said Jane in a low voice in his ear.

"But?" asked Lisbon.

"But," said Jane, "I think it's our only chance to get that DNA. And I know how important this is to you, so I'll suck it up."

"What is it, Jane?"

"The only way you're going to get a sample of his blood is if you go over there and wipe it off his face yourself. And the only way to do that is to pretend to hit on him."

"You're joking."

"Teresa, would I joke about something like this?"

No, she decided after a moment of deliberation. He wouldn't.

"But I'm not very good at hitting on people."

"Trust me, Lisbon. You are well-versed in the art of seduction. Go. He won't know what hit him."

She debated for a while longer, only agreeing to his plan because it had been his idea in the first place. "Alright," she said softly. "You might not want to watch."

"Oh, I most definitely don't want to watch," said Jane. "But I have to."

She shot a glance at him, whispered "I love you" in his ear, and walked away, fluffing her hair with one hand and grasping her half-finished beer with the other. She walked toward Dellinger, whose eyes were glued onto the game. As she approached, his eyes landed on her.

He definitely wasn't unattractive, Lisbon noticed, which made her task slightly more believable. He was even handsome in a rugged, roguish kind of way.

But he wasn't attractive to _her._

He wasn't Jane.

 _Let's get this over with_ , she thought disgustedly.

"Hey," said Lisbon, in what she hoped was an explicitly flirtatious tone. She held up a napkin from the bar. "Allow me?"

And he did, smiling at her and tipping his head back to allow her better access to his lower face. Lisbon set her beer on the counter and gripped Dellinger's face with one hand, raising the other with the napkin to his nose to absorb the blood there. She wiped the blood off and made a show of caressing his face with her free hand so her other could sneak the blood-soaked napkin into an evidence bag in her jacket pocket.

"Never seen you here before," said Dellinger.

"I'm only visiting," said Lisbon, wanting to bolt but knowing it was safer to allow the situation to play out. Ditching Dellinger right after she'd essentially hit on him would only draw his attention to the situation, and he might figure out something was afoot. Instead, Lisbon attempted a flirtatious smile, which must have worked because she saw Dellinger's pupils dilate in arousal. Lisbon immediately said an internal apology to Jane, who she imagined was silently furious behind her.

"Does that mean you need a place to stay for the night, babe?" said Dellinger, his smile scrunching up the scars on his face.

 _Wow—desperate much?_ thought Lisbon.

Instead, she said, "Well, that depends."

"On?"

Lisbon took a sip of her beer. "On how well things end up going here," she said, and she had to restrain herself from reacting as Dellinger checked her out, his eyes starting out by staring at the connection between her lips and the beer bottle and moving downward, stalling at her breasts and then again at her hips.

 _Creep_.

"Oh, I think things are going pretty well, don't you?" he said.

"I'd have to agree," said Lisbon. She added internally, _but only because you haven't tried to feel me up yet._

An eighties rock ballad blasted over the speakers, and Dellinger stood up, swaying slightly. He leaned over to Lisbon, alcohol on his breath and desire on his mind.

"Dance with me?"

She didn't want to, but at that moment Dellinger shifted, revealing the outline of a gun holster on his lower back.

 _Shit_ , thought Lisbon.

She couldn't think of a way to refuse him which didn't seem obvious.

She couldn't think of a way to refuse him that wouldn't make him angry. He'd killed before for far less.

So she allowed herself to be pulled away from the bar and into Dellinger's arms.

It felt all wrong, angular and rough and nothing at all like being held by Jane, where she felt like she just _fit_ , but she leaned into him and allowed him to sway their bodies to what he drunkenly believed was in time with the music.

His words became more suggestive with every passing minute, even without any additional encouragement from Lisbon. After three seemingly never-ending songs, she finally felt it was appropriate to make a break for it.

"My head feels a bit fuzzy," said Lisbon, tilting her head up. "I'll be right back—I just need a glass of water."

And she darted off, trying to swerve behind tall bar-goers to hide her route of escape from him. Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't follow, and she burst through the door to escape into the bitter and icy night.

Jane was waiting for her outside the bar.

"You got it?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good," he said, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her down the street. They turned a corner into a dark, deserted alley, the snow falling around them and sparkling like miniature crystals. Before even checking to see that they were alone, Jane pushed Lisbon against the brick wall and crushed her lips with his.

She gave in easily, sighing with contentment to finally be in his arms—arms that fit around her like a lock to a key—and she didn't admonish him when his hands roved over her, rougher than usual but somehow with necessity.

" _Mine_ ," said Jane. "Never his—never someone else's. _Never again_. Mine."

His touch was like a cure, erasing every trace of the man who had just held her.

"Yes," breathed Lisbon. "Yes—yours. _Yes_."

Jane's hand slid from her hip to the side of her breast, and her next moan was interrupted by the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Actually," said a voice, "she's _mine_."

Lisbon's eyes sprung open in horror, and she quickly took in the barrel that was pointed at Jane's head. Jane tensed but didn't move, his hands still on either side of Lisbon's ribcage.

"Give her to me, and you can live."

Lisbon grabbed Jane's hands and pushed him away from her before he could understand what she was doing. She moved over to Dellinger, who grabbed her waist and pulled him flush against her, all the while keeping his gun trained on Jane. He looked at Lisbon.

"You're in for a good time tonight, babe," he said.

Lisbon shivered.

A gun went off.

Someone screamed.

It took Lisbon a second to realize that it wasn't just someone who had screamed—it had been _her_. In another second, it registered that it wasn't Jane who had been shot.

Fifty feet away, Vega stood at the entrance to the alley, her gun trained on Dellinger, who was now lying on the snow-covered ground, moaning and clutching his left knee. Lisbon darted forward to grab his gun, and she took out the bullets before turning to Jane. Vega moved closer, keeping her gun up, and Cho and Rigsby moved past her to put Dellinger in handcuffs.

Jane looked paler than normal, but his eyes widened in recognition as she held the gun between them.

"That's what I think it is?" he asked.

She nodded.

It was the gun that matched the reverse engineered bullets.

It was the gun that had killed her father.


	9. Chapter 9: State of Grace

**AN: Thanks again for your reviews, favorites, and follows. This trilogy has been an absolute joy to write, and I find myself extremely attached to it, especially now that I'm tying things up. There's still the epilogue to go yet, but I hope you like this latest installment. (Yes, the epilogue will most likely feature the long-awaited wedding. If you have requests for certain scenes for the wedding, let me know** — **I'll try to incorporate some of those since we didn't get enough of the actual wedding on the show)!**

 **Thanks again, dear reader, for sticking with this story until the very end.**

 **Also, I borrowed a quote from the TV show Fringe. Fellow Fringies, see if you can catch it!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Chapter 9: State of Grace

"You're sure you don't want to speak with her?"

Lisbon was facing Jane in the hallway outside of the interrogation room. He turned his body slightly, moving half a step down the hall, away from the room where his mother currently sat.

"Quite sure," said Jane, his expression dark. "I trust you'll inform me of anything she says that I need to know about."

Lisbon nodded and took a step away from interrogation, away from Scarlet Jackson—and towards him.

They never did end up getting a confession from Dellinger. Not that it much mattered—the DNA found between the teeth of Robert Lisbon was a match for that on the bloody napkin that Lisbon had procured, and the bullets that Clark had reverse engineered turned out to be from the gun Dellinger had had on him that night in the bar.

Jane hadn't wanted to speak to his stepbrother either.

"Of course," said Lisbon, and she hugged him, forgoing her policy against PDA at work.

"Thank you," Jane whispered in her ear, his voice slightly shaky, and Lisbon nodded against him. He held her for another second before letting go and disappearing down the hall.

Lisbon opened the door to interrogation.

* * *

Unlike her stepson, Scarlet spoke freely. Perhaps she was hoping for some leniency in her son's sentencing in exchange for her information, thought Lisbon. A typical mother's sacrifice from a mother who was anything but typical. Lisbon wondered what kind of mother Scarlet could have been for Jane had she not fled the carnival.

How different would Jane be now if she had stayed?

Lisbon focused on Scarlet's confession, taking thorough notes. Scarlet had been aware of her stepson's role in the murder even though she hadn't actively participated. This, however, was enough for Lisbon to charge her with obstruction since Scarlet had failed to share this information with the FBI when they had questioned her.

Lisbon stared across the interrogation table at Jane's mother, trying to find some similarities between her and Jane.

She was glad when, this time around, she didn't find any.

After a minute of silence in which she finished her notes, Lisbon folded her notebook and made to stand up when Scarlet spoke in a soft tone.

"I heard what happened to his family," she said. "To Patrick's family," she amended at Lisbon's confused look.

"Yeah," said Lisbon slowly, at a loss as to what to say. Though Jane's past had brought him to her, though it had brought them together, it was still difficult to talk about. His trauma—and by extension, her own—may have lessened slightly over the years, but it would never disappear completely.

"I know I wasn't really his mother," said Scarlet. "But to hear what he's gone through—what he's experienced…my heart breaks for him. A mother would do anything to prevent her son from experiencing such a tragedy."

Lisbon nodded. "That was…that was a long time ago."

Scarlet reached over to touch Lisbon's hand. "Thank you," she said. "I know you were the person who kept him alive. Your aura tells me so."

Lisbon remained sitting, curious despite herself. Her brow furrowed. "If you don't mind my asking…how exactly can you tell?"

"Your aura and my son's—they're intertwined in a way that is unusual. When I look at him, I get the feeling that you kept him afloat, so to speak. When he was drowning, he latched onto you and never let go. You were his lifeline." She paused, looking at Lisbon carefully. "And to some extent, you still are."

"For every time I've kept him from drowning, he's done the same for me," Lisbon said gently.

Scarlet's eyes narrowed, looking not straight at Lisbon but somehow straight through her.

"I see that now," she said. "It explains a lot." She looked at Lisbon with a soft smile. "What you have with Patrick is rare. That kind of love…only a few people know it's even possible. Fewer still ever attain it. So hold him near—because what you have, it's…it's about as close to perfection as you can get in this world."

Lisbon nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I know how lucky I am," she said. "And I thank God every day for bringing your son into my life."

She stood up and walked to the door. Before opening it, however, she turned around to look at Scarlet one last time.

"I'll talk to him," she promised. "He's hurting right now. But maybe someday, those wounds will heal. And when they do, perhaps he'll begin to mend fences."

She shut the door softly behind her.

* * *

The team, joined by Wylie and Vega, opted to go out for closed case pizza that night rather than order in. They didn't arrive at the restaurant until nearly eight o'clock, having stayed late to wrap up the case, and the other customers around them gradually left as they waited for their food.

Lisbon looked around the table, and she smiled as everyone raised their beers—minus Van Pelt, who lifted up her lemonade glass—to toast to each other and clink their glasses. Cho turned to Vega, who reminded Lisbon of a Labrador puppy with her wide eyes and easy loyalty, and immediately the two were engaged in deep conversation. Wylie attempted to explain some piece of computer wizardry to Jane; though Jane clearly didn't understand a word of it, he nodded along, obviously grateful to Wylie for his help on the case. Van Pelt rolled her eyes at Rigsby, who had apparently just suggested they spend the next day visiting the dinosaur exhibit at the Field Museum.

Lisbon smiled. They were quite a team. She'd even grown extremely fond of Wylie and Vega in the short time that she'd had to get to know them.

Her breath caught when she thought about the news that Abbott had broken earlier that week.

Her team wouldn't be a team for much longer.

But where would everyone end up? Surely Van Pelt and Rigsby would be sent somewhere together—if the FBI was stupid enough to try to split them up, Lisbon knew, they'd lose both of the pair. Cho would succeed wherever he went. But what would happen to herself and Jane? If the FBI wouldn't keep Van Pelt and Rigsby together despite the fact that they were married, there was no way she and Jane would be assigned to the same city. But Lisbon was confident that Jane would follow her wherever she went. All he needed to guarantee his happiness was to be with her. _Well_ , thought Lisbon, _that and a puzzle_. And he could find the latter outside of the FBI if need be.

What if she herself was unhappy with the relocation? At least she'd promised the FBI nothing—she was free to remain in Chicago if she really wanted. Hell, she could audition for Northwestern University's music program.

And the idea planted itself in her mind, putting down roots without any additional encouragement.

There were so many things she and Jane could be happy doing. Why limit herself solely to working for the FBI?

Lisbon's thoughts were interrupted when she saw Cho excuse himself to take a phone call. _Abbott_ , he mouthed at her as he walked away from the table, and Lisbon turned to Vega to ask about her family.

Ten minutes later, Lisbon's phone buzzed, and she checked it to find a text from Cho.

 _Can we talk?_

Intrigued, Lisbon pushed her chair back to follow Cho outside. She felt Jane's eyes on her back as she left the restaurant, and she pulled her jacket tighter around herself to protect her torso from the frigid night air.

Cho was standing just outside the door, half in shadow, his ears red from the biting wind.

"Kimball?"

"That was Abbott," said Cho, rubbing his hands together to generate heat. "He wanted to congratulate us on wrapping up the case."

"And?" asked Lisbon. There had to be more if Cho had asked to speak with her privately.

"He also wanted to make us a proposal," said Cho. "Apparently the field office in Chicago was impressed with how we handled the case. And by impressed, I mean it—they want to bring us on permanently."

Lisbon crossed her arms across her chest, and her eyes widened. "Permanently? You mean, they want to give us all jobs?"

"Kind of," said Cho, and the beginnings of a smile danced across his face. "They want to make us a team. All of us—you, me, Jane, Rigsby, Van Pelt, Wylie, and Vega."

"All of us?" repeated Lisbon, stunned.

"Well, you have to remember Wylie and Vega were already working in Chicago, but they were unassigned to an official team. So really, they're just hiring the five of us."

"Still," said Lisbon in disbelief, shaking her head. "That's…that's unbelievable."

Cho nodded. "They want us to co-captain the team."

Lisbon's jaw dropped a fraction of an inch. "They want us…they're giving _us_ a team? We're not getting some other agent in charge?"

Cho's smile became a full-out grin. "Welcome on board, captain," he said, chuckling. "So…what do you say?"

Lisbon laughed, still not quite believing her team's good fortune. "Well, I need to talk it over with Jane, but…my first impulse is to jump at this opportunity. To head a team of FBI agents—in Chicago, no less—it's practically a dream come true."

"I thought you'd feel that way," said Cho. "And I think I speak for Rigsby and Van Pelt when I say that I don't really care where I'm working as long as I'm working with our team. And I also think Wylie and Vega are going to be really superb agents one day, once we train them up."

"I can't believe this," said Lisbon, smiling from ear to ear, and she stepped forward to give Cho a bear hug. "This is…" she paused, searching for the right words. "This is beyond anything I'd dared to hope for."

* * *

Lisbon and Cho returned to the table to break the news, where they were greeted first with stunned silence and then, a few seconds later, grins and laughter and high fives and exclamations.

Van Pelt hugged Lisbon. "I can call you 'Boss' again!" she said. "It's felt so strange trying to restrain myself these past couple weeks."

Rigsby bumped fists with Cho. "It's going to be just like old times," he said, laughing. "Only better!"

Lisbon caught Vega lean over and whisper to Wylie conspiratorially. "You ready for this, Wylie?"

Wylie smiled as he looked around the table. "I doubt it," he said sincerely. "But I have a feeling no one ever is with these guys."

Lisbon shot them both a grin.

"You have no idea," she said.

* * *

"You're joking."

It was nearing midnight, and Jane was flipping through real estate pictures on his smartphone. "You wound me, Lisbon."

"We just found out we had job offers in Chicago! You couldn't have had time to look at houses already!"

Jane put his phone down on the bedside table before rolling over to kiss her. The hotel bed creaked slightly beneath him. "You're particularly attached to this city—and after visiting it for the first time, I've found that I share the same attachment. Your family is here. We had to settle somewhere—why not in Chicago?"

Lisbon propped her head up on her hand. "So you're okay with this? Taking jobs with the FBI and moving here?"

"The way I see it, things couldn't have worked out better. We get to be near our family—your brothers and our team. How could we refuse an offer like that?"

Lisbon leaned into him and kissed his collarbone and then the side of his neck. Their hands intertwined of their own accord. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. You know, besides ridiculously expensive lakeside real estate."

"Well, we'll shelf that discussion until later. What did you want to talk about?"

His eyes were an odd mixture of nervous and curious.

"That offer you made me a while ago."

"To pay for you to attend Northwestern?"

She nodded against him. "Yes," she said. "I think…I think I want to try. You know, take classes part time, spend the rest of my time at the FBI. Lyrics and melodies kept coming to me during this case—and it made me realize that I don't want to stop. I love music, and I love the work I do with you and the others. I want to keep doing both." She paused, hyper aware of the fact that his hand was hovering over her heavily-thudding heart. "But I realize that a full schedule like this isn't exactly conducive to trying to start a family, so…"

Jane breathed in sharply. "Is that something you want to talk about now?"

Lisbon shrugged. "We're not getting any younger, Jane. And the FBI and Northwestern will always be around. But maybe we could wait to start a family until after we get married? I'd rather not look like a hippo in our wedding photos."

"Teresa Lisbon, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I promise that you will look even more beautiful when you are carrying my child."

"Uh huh," said Lisbon, rolling her eyes. "I notice you failed to address the point I made about looking like a hippo."

Jane pulled her close. "You will not look like a hippo. You'll look like a mother—and you'll be radiant and gorgeous as ever, I'm sure, especially because you'll have a pregnancy glow. And I'll even prove it to you. As often as you like—just say the word. It's you and me, remember?"

"It's easy to remember when you never forget," she replied.

"That's my girl," he said, leaning in again to touch his lips to hers.

* * *

Lisbon fell in love with the first house Jane showed her the next day. Though it was modest in size, it was ridiculously overpriced—lakefront property near the city was obviously in high demand.

They followed the real estate agent around the house for a while before he tactfully left them alone to discuss their thoughts. However, there wasn't much to discuss.

"It's only a mile from Northwestern," said Jane. "You could walk to class if you wanted to. The drive into the city might get tedious, but I think it would be worth it to live in the suburbs. You know, escape the hustle and bustle."

Lisbon nodded as they walked into the smaller of the two bedrooms. "Nursery?" she asked, and his face lit up. He kissed the side of her head.

They looked out the window over the lake, and Lisbon leaned into him. They remained silent for a few minutes, each lost in thought, until Jane said, "Yes."

"Yes, this will be the nursery?" asked Lisbon.

"Well, that," said Jane, "but I was actually answering a question you asked me more than a year ago."

Lisbon combed through her memories, trying to bring a specific one to the surface. Jane helped her along by handing her his left hand, which now bore the faintest of silvery scars.

The scar he'd received by crushing the Red John DVD—the DVD which had predicted Jane's seven suspects—in his hands.

Suddenly the memory came flooding back to her.

 _"When you came back from Vegas, you told me you loved me. Did you mean it?"_

Jane spoke. "You had to know I meant those words when I said them. That's why you asked about it, first in that warehouse when I deflected, and then again when you were bandaging up my hand after we watched that DVD. I couldn't tell you then, Lisbon, because I was trying to keep you safe—from Red John, and from me."

Lisbon kissed his shoulder. "I know," she said. "And I think I knew back then."

Jane sighed. "We're safe now—we're free now. There's nothing holding us back."

"So much has happened since then," agreed Lisbon. She smiled up at him, standing up on her toes to touch her lips to his. "And so much is about to."

Together, they looked out across the lake.


	10. Epilogue: The Worthwhile Fight

**AN: I am completely amazed and awestruck at your encouraging reviews, both for this story and for _Eventide_. Thank you all, every single one of you, for your support. It truly is an honor to write for such a fantastic fandom.**

 **This one was rather difficult to write; I really didn't want to say goodbye to this universe. I adore this version of Jane and Lisbon. Perhaps, if the right story comes along, I'll revisit this series someday. But for now, I hope you like the last chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Epilogue: The Worthwhile Fight

 _Two months later_

Jane's hands covered her eyes, and he guided her from the entryway of their home to the living room.

"Jane, I swear, if you've bought another horse for me…" Lisbon trailed off, any chance she had at delivering a stern tone obliterated by the giggles that bubbled up and escaped her lips.

"Technically," said Jane, his lips close to her ear, still leading her through the house, "it was a pony, not a horse." Lisbon rolled her eyes, and he felt the movement under his palms. "Watch yourself, woman, or I may decide to take the gift back."

He uncovered her eyes with a flourish. "Et voila!" he said, grinning from ear to ear, his arms gesturing wildly to something in front of them.

Lisbon's breath caught. Standing in the middle of their living room, just in front of the fireplace, was an ebony grand piano.

Without looking at him, he grabbed his hand and squeezed gently then walked slowly over to the piano, her footsteps echoing loudly around them. She touched her fingertips to the keyboard cover, and goosebumps exploded up her arm.

"It's Charlotte's piano," Lisbon breathed, and for a ludicrous second she was relieved he hadn't bought her another exorbitantly expensive gift. She turned to him. "You had it shipped from Malibu?"

Jane shrugged. "It wasn't getting any use there," he said. "And after you got accepted into Northwestern, I figured you deserved something to celebrate. And of course, to practice with."

Lisbon turned back to the piano, moisture suddenly building in her eyes. She sat down on the bench, and the memories of the last time she'd played this particular instrument came back to her.

 _A cold, sleepless night spent at Jane's Malibu home on the run from Red John. A secret song for Jane that hadn't remained secret for long. And after—their first night together._

"Remember that night?" she asked softly, and he was suddenly behind her. She felt him nod against her.

"Of course."

"You said you loved me. It was the first time you told me—I mean _really_ told me."

Jane's arms twisted around her, and she leaned back into him. "I love you, Lisbon," he said softly, releasing her and coming to sit on the bench by her side. He pushed the keyboard cover up, and Lisbon watched, fascinated, as he began to play.

The notes were slightly staccato, and he didn't have the rhythm down quite right, but she recognized the song immediately.

It was the song she'd played for him that night, more than a year ago.

"How…" she asked, looking over with glossy eyes at him and a sappy smile on her face.

He missed a note as he answered her, but he caught on again quickly. "Two words, Lisbon: memory palace." He grinned. "That, and a lot of time at the local music shop to practice." She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her gently.

"Aren't you going to sing?" he asked. "I'd do it myself, but I think I'd ruin your song."

She looked over at him. "This is perfect, Jane. The song's even better this way. As a duet," she said, and he started over so she could sing along, her strong, sure voice blending with his slightly shaky but competent accompaniment.

When his hands played the last note, he turned towards her.

"That night," he said, "when you first played for me, I told you that I wished I could listen to you sing every day."

She smiled. "I remember."

Jane looked at her seriously. "Lisbon, I love falling asleep to your lullabies, and I love waking up to your voice. And I still mean what I said then. I want to hear you sing every day. I want to hear you sing every day for the rest of my life."

Lisbon couldn't think. Her mind was hopelessly and blissfully blank.

She could only feel.

Jane reached into the pocket on the front of his vest and pulled out a small, black, velvet box. He opened it, and she spared the ring one glance before setting her eyes on Jane's face.

"I can't imagine facing anything without you anymore," he continued, his voice cracking with emotion, and she reached out to grab his hands when they began to shake. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "I know I've said this before, but you saved me, Teresa. Again and again. And I want to be there beside you for…for as long as we're alive—and I want to be the one who saves you. Not that you'll need saving," he added hastily, and she laughed out loud, remembering a conversation from a previous life. "But if for some reason you do, it would be my privilege. You've been my partner for a long time, Lisbon. I want you to always be my partner. I want you to be my wife."

One of Jane's hands touched her face tenderly, and she realized he was wiping away tears.

"Teresa, will you marry me?"

For once in her life, Lisbon didn't have to think.

" _Yes_ ," she said emphatically, laughing and crying at the same time. "Yes, of course! Yes."

He slid the ring onto her finger.

It was never removed.

* * *

Chicago in June was breathtaking. Spring had finally been chased away, and summer took over, bringing with it bright green leaves and aromatic flowers to decorate the suburbs.

From a window in the master bedroom of their lakeside home, Lisbon looked out over her backyard. It had been transformed for the day with roses and silky pastel fabric, and her closest friends were talking, laughing, and smiling below her. Everyone was seated in rows of chairs, divided into two groups by an aisle down the middle. Lisbon looked down to the end of the aisle, and her breath caught.

Jane was staring up at her, looking exceedingly gorgeous in a pristine, blue-gray suit. He smiled at her.

"All set?" came a voice behind her.

Lisbon turned around, and Virgil Minelli reached up to pull her veil down over her eyes.

"You're still sure you want to marry him?" said Minelli, smiling widely.

"There's never been a doubt," responded Lisbon, chucking.

Minelli offered her his arm, and she took it. "If you would have told me all those years ago when Jane first showed up at our doorstep—looking like a homeless man, no less—that you were going to marry him, I probably would have told you that you were as crazy as he seemed to be."

They walked forward, out of the bedroom and down the hall. Minelli held tight to Lisbon's arm as they descended the stairs.

"Time can change a lot of things, can't it?" she responded.

They stopped just inside the house.

"You look lovely, Teresa," said Minelli, glancing at Lisbon's simple yet stunning wedding gown. "I hope Jane knows how lucky he is. I bet he does—he was always a smart man. A pain in the ass, sure, but a smart man."

"Thank you," Lisbon said, stopping herself from calling him 'sir' at the last second. _Old habits die hard_ , she thought, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him. "And thank you for being here today. I can't tell you what it means to me."

"I wouldn't have missed it," said Minelli, returning her embrace. "It's not every day a man sees his daughter get married."

Lisbon's eyes teared up.

She and Jane certainly didn't have a conventional family. But it was _their_ family, and she wouldn't change it for anything.

Minelli pulled back and offered her his arm again, and they walked out of the house and into the backyard.

Lisbon took a second to glance over at the other members of her family, seated to either side of the aisle she was about to walk down. Wylie and Vega waved at her from their place to her left, and her brothers—along with Stan's wife and kids—seemed speechless for once as they looked at her with grins on their faces. Even Jane's carnie friends, Sam and Pete, were present. Lisbon's gaze moved upwards, towards Van Pelt, her maid of honor and now noticeably pregnant, and Rigsby and Cho stood on the other side of the aisle, both of them fulfilling the position of Jane's best man.

Finally her eyes landed on Jane, and there was nothing else. Just Jane, in his new suit and tie, his smile wider than she'd ever seen it.

Just Jane.

When they reached the front of the aisle, Minelli gave Lisbon's hand to Jane. He smiled at the younger man.

"This woman is the best thing that will ever happen to you," said Minelli softly.

Jane pulled Lisbon's hands towards him and kissed her knuckles. "I know," he said, looking straight at her. "Believe me, I know."

Minelli grinned and clapped Jane on the shoulder. But Jane didn't spare him another glance.

He had eyes solely for Lisbon.

It was spectacular, she thought, the difference a year and a half had made in him. Though he was still her Jane, he was transformed—he was free.

Free to smile, free to laugh.

And free to love.

The priest had been speaking as they gazed at each other. "Your vows, Mr. Jane," said the priest loudly for the second time, bringing them back to the ceremony, and they both smiled a little sheepishly.

Jane swallowed, and when he began speaking, his voice was quiet but confident and sure.

"I was so broken," he said, holding her eyes with an intense stare. "When we first met, I was so broken. I wasn't capable of acting like a normal human being; I had forgotten what it was like to matter to someone—what it was like to be _loved_." He blinked several times, and Lisbon saw the moisture build in his eyes. "And the last thing I ever expected was to find you. I didn't think it was possible for someone to love me again. But you did. And you did more than just love me—you mended me as well, Lisbon. I was so broken, but you made me whole. My life was so dark before you entered it. But the day we met—the moment we shook hands—a light appeared. You're my light, Lisbon, and you're my partner, and…you're my everything. I love you, and it makes me so happy to be able to say I have the rest of my life to prove that to you."

Lisbon's body began to shake, and Jane tightened his grip on her trembling hands. She wiped her eyes and smiled at him as he placed a platinum wedding band on her left hand.

Lisbon spoke. "When we first met," she said, "I immediately felt fiercely protective of you. I didn't understand what I was feeling at the time, but now I think I do—Jane, I fell in love with you the moment I helped you up off of that floor, bloody nose and all. And I keep falling in love with you with every passing day. What we have, it's love at first sight. It's love at last sight. It's love at _every_ sight." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and it rolled down her cheek to rest at the corner of her mouth. "You've brought such joy to my life," Lisbon said, her voice breaking. "I don't think I knew what it felt like to be truly happy until I met you. Because you make me so happy, Jane—you have to know that. You are the best thing in my life, and I am so _unbelievably_ thankful that we found each other. Thank you for upending my life all those years ago—it was the best thing that could have happened to me." She looked at him through watery eyes. "I love you, Jane. I always have, and I always will."

Her hands were trembling so violently she barely got the ring onto his finger.

"Patrick, do you take Teresa to be your lawful, wedded wife, to have and to hold in sickness and health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

His grin was radiant. "I sure do."

"And, you, Teresa, do you take Patrick to be your lawful, wedded husband, to have and to hold in sickness and health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

Lisbon's words were almost a whisper, but she'd never been more sure of anything. "I do."

"Then by the power granted me by the state of Illinois, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Now Lisbon was the steady one—Jane's hands shook as he raised her veil.

His kiss was especially sweet that day under the summer sky.

* * *

"Dance with me, Mrs. Jane?"

Lisbon allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and led out onto the dance floor. "You know, I like the sound of that far more than I expected to," she said. "Maybe I will change my name after all."

Jane's eyes sparkled down at her. "You need to keep 'Lisbon' in there somewhere," he said playfully. "There can't be two Janes running around at crime scenes together—and I admit, I'm very partial to your current last name."

"Teresa Lisbon Jane?" she wondered out loud as they approached the center of the dance floor. "I could keep 'Lisbon' as my middle name."

Jane's arms wrapped around her. "It's lovely. It's perfect." He shook his head in disbelief. "I would be so honored if you took my name," he said, pulling her in close, and the music started.

An expression of confusion crossed Jane's face. "This isn't the song we chose for our first dance," he said, curious.

"No, it's the song I just finished writing for you," she said. "Listen."

Her soft vocals echoed around them accompanied by a quiet guitar, and Jane swayed them to the honest and heartfelt lyrics.

Van Pelt had helped her record it using some computer software that was completely beyond Lisbon's comprehension. But the song had turned out exactly like she'd hoped it would—simple yet powerful.

Lisbon rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart, his breaths. Jane's arms twisted around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "I love you," he said. "I love you so much."

She kissed his chest and tucked her head under his chin. "I know," she whispered, and after few minutes, the song ended. Another guitar-driven song began to play.

She could feel Jane's smile against her hair. "You used to love this song," he said teasingly.

"I seem to have grown even more attached to it after crashing a high school reunion that wasn't ours," she quipped.

Jane burst out laughing.

A minute later, he murmured in her ear. "Are you sure I can't convince you to take an extended honeymoon?" he asked. "We could head back down to Venezuela—visit our island."

"I don't have time for a long honeymoon, Jane," she said.

"I know, I know, new job and everything."

Lisbon swatted his arm. "Well, mostly. But I don't want to ask for too much time off right now because I'm going to need to take a major leave in February." She said the words in a rush, unable to contain her excitement.

Her hand dropped instinctively to rest on her lower abdomen.

Jane's jaw just dropped.

"Really?" he said, and his expression was everything. His eyes lit up, and his smile suddenly became brighter than the fairy lights sprinkled around them across the lawn.

She giggled and nodded, and he crushed her to him before picking her up carefully and swinging her around.

"You are?" said Jane, as if he needed her to tell him again.

She felt his fingers brush against her stomach.

"I am," she said.

He leaned his forehead down to rest against her shoulder. "I never thought…I never dared to hope I'd get a happy ending."

She framed his face between her hands, lifting it up so she could see his eyes. "Not an ending," she corrected, and her hands dropped to his chest.

He smiled.

"You're right," he said. "It's our beginning."

* * *

 **AN: And like Jane and Lisbon's story here, I am only just beginning to write for this fandom. So no worries! I'll be around for a long time. In fact, if you have any prompts, send them my way. I want to write as much as possible before school starts again for me this fall!**

 **Songs used in this series: "Into the Blue" by Sara Jackson-Holman, "When I Fall" by Lizz Wright, and "State of Grace (Acoustic)" by Taylor Swift**

 **Thank you all once again.**

 **~Hope**


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